


One Step Forward (Two Steps Back)

by withertime (hydrangea)



Category: Bandom RPF, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Alternate Timeline, Bandom Bigbang 2009, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-09
Updated: 2009-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-05 10:17:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 39,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hydrangea/pseuds/withertime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After escaping his family's expectations of a college degree and a secure job in favor of music, Jon Walker joins up with The Academy Is... as a tech and finds himself in a whole new world. Always before, he has been one of the band members, now he's on the outside and seeing things he never had the distance to see before. TAI is far from as steady as he thought they were, especially when Panic! at the Disco catches a break while in England and become stars overnight. It's becoming increasingly clear that something is going to break.</p><p>So far, the story is similar to history. But then Brent befriends Jon and introduces him to Panic, an impulsive Flickr decision leaves Jon fangirl-famous and Jon starts to realize that maybe he wants more than friendship from Brent even as TAI starts to break and Panic deals with their sudden fame. And as things between Jon and Brent heat up, everything else begin to fall apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to yellsurprise, animealexis, paperdollmuse and my friends for helping out with this story, and an equally huge thank you to sass_le_fay and the-liftedlorax for the art and fanmix (at the end).

The parking lot looks like every other parking lot Jon has seen: lots of concrete, rubber marks stretching curves over the pavement and shards of glass scattered over painted lines. The building bordering the parking lot at the farthest end is covered in graffiti, the weeds growing in the cracks between foundation and pavement running up to it, stretching towards the sky as if wanting to cover the wall in butter-yellow flowers and sharp leaves. Jon steps out of the idling car into the heat outside and it feels like coming home.

"Jon!"

Jon jumps as his brother calls his name and turns around, raising an eyebrow at him. "Mike?" he says and reaches for his things, putting them on the ground.

Mike looks at him, then at the parking lot, lips a thin line and eyebrows stuck in that 'I'm your big brother and I know better' expression. "You're sure they'll pick you up here?"

Jon nearly rolls his eyes but catches it in time - Mike wouldn't take it well and it's enough to have the whole dropping out of college between him and his family right now. "Yeah," he says instead, carefully modulating his tone into something that only a Scrooge could take exception to. Jon's had a lot of practice at that lately. He nods towards the few posters slapped up on the colorful wall of the venue. "They're on tonight."

"You know mom and dad will always welcome you home, right?" Mike says, and his eyebrows are back up in the big brother position. Jon can almost hear the words, despite the fact Mike isn't saying them. Go back to college, get a degree, marry Cassie, become an average Joe.

"I know," Jon says instead and picks up his camera bag so he can heft it onto his shoulder. The tour manager - whoever it is these days - has called ahead, Tom said. He can stash his stuff, then head out and take some pictures. It's been a while since he was here last, since... Jon cuts off the thought and turns his attention back to Mike. "I'll see you in a couple of weeks," he offers.

Mike scowls for a second, then shakes his head and smiles. This time it's genuine, if drawn. "Have a safe trip," he says and Jon nods with a smile, watching as Mike pulls out and disappear into traffic.

"Come out with us," Tom said last week when he caught Jon during his shift at Starbucks. "We need a tech and I know you don't like college. Why stay when you have a choice?" Jon didn't have an answer then and he doesn't have one know, which is why he is standing on a parking lot with a shitload of bags, eschewing college and his family's respect for a life on the road, for a life of music. Then again, there hadn't been a question of what he would do, and his family and Cassie had seen it too the moment he told them of Tom's offer.

Jon takes a deep breath and heads for the venue. Tom and the others are due to arrive in two hours or maybe a little more.

He might as well do something fun while he waits.

***

Working with a crew of techs turn out to be fast-paced, weird and a very good workout, Jon discovers. It's wholly unlike being in one of the bands and the profession draws all kinds of personalities, which together makes a tight-knit group of people that has to learn how to deal with anything or get out. Jon has been called peculiar every now and then with his love for flip-flops and too small shirts, but he fits right in on tour and that's something Jon missed when he dressed in jeans and button-ups and real shoes.

The first few days, Jon scurries from trailer to stage, to green room to bus; learning where 'his' band fit into the pecking order - what he might demand, what he might beg for. It keeps his mind alive in a way it wasn't in the corridors of the university; it challenges him and his ability to get along with people until he wakes up one day and find himself looking forward to see if trading a case of beer for that replacement string he needs will get him a smile along with the string from the grumpy tech of the second openers. Jon makes friends outside of the band and he's breathing again like he hasn't for months.

The best thing about being on the road with TAI, beyond the music, is that Jon gets to see Tom every day. It's been a long time since Jon has been able to do that and the feeling of actually sitting down to talk or heading out to take pictures with him - it makes Jon realize how much he had missed Tom, had missed their friendship. Talking on the phone isn't the same as talking in person and... Yeah. If there's something Jon regrets it's giving in to his parents' demands when he knew he could never live without music.

***

Jon doesn't have that much to do with the other bands - his work keeps him mostly with the techs and TAI and with no time to make friends with people he rushes past two times a day at most. Oh, he knows them by sight if not by name, but if someone asked him to sort them by band? He'd maybe manage the ones he'd heard of before. The only other band that has his attention is the second Decaydance band, some newbie band from Las Vegas Jon has never heard of. They keep mostly to themselves and Panic! is the only band Jon isn't sure he can pick out in a line up. Then things change one evening after a show in an unexpected, but not unwelcome, way.

Jon is sipping on a beer, watching Bill trounce Butcher on the Playstation when his cell, put on vibrate for the show, starts up a little dance on the kitchen table. Startled, Jon throws out a hand in the general direction of the noise and manages to catch the cell before it jiggles its way to the floor. For a second, he juggles the beer and the phone and the way he's slipping off of the couch before Mike takes care of the beer and smirks, ignoring Jon's glare as he push himself back up on the couch and thumbs open the phone.

"Hello?" The caller ID says Tom; Jon shouts into the phone, trying to be heard over the noise from the TV. He hears nothing on the other side of the phone and Jon hopes something hasn't happened again. The last time he got a phone call from Tom he'd been caught up in a brawl and yeah. Jon really didn't want to head down to the police station again. "Tom?" Jon tries again.

It's silent for a few more seconds, then someone clears their throat and Jon breathes again. "No, no it's... It's Brendon. From Panic! at the Disco?"

Which. Jon blinks and glances at the screen. It still says 'Tom' but it really doesn't make any sense. Tom is with Panic! at the Disco? "Why do you have Tom's phone?" he asks, trying not to sound too accusing.

"Um," Brendon says, and he sounds even more hesitant than before and Jon reigns in the way he really wants to snap at Brendon until he tells him what the hell is going on, because he suspects Brendon might just disconnect the call. "We might have found him? Like stumbling around the parking lot? Spencer thinks - that is we think - he might have forgotten where your bus is parked?"

And yeah, that's Tom all right. He swears, which catches Mike's attention. Jon waves it away, biting his lip hard. Tom drunk stupid is problem enough without involving the rest of them. "I'll be over in five," he tells Brendon, and tries to remember where he put his flip-flops.

"Right." Brendon sounds a little choked and something rattles behind him - a van door? - followed by a snatch of singing that Jon could have recognized asleep. "You know our van?" Brendon asks.

Jon rolls his eyes. Newbies, he thinks and gestures to Mike that he's heading out. "I know your techs," he replies, "so yes."

"Oh." Brendon sounds like that is news to him and Jon feels a stab of guilt. He was a newbie once too - admittedly it was long ago, but he was one. "You're a tech. I thought you were in a band."

"No, I tech guitars for TAI." Jon gives up on his flip-flops and heads for the door. He won't die from walking barefoot. From stepping on glass and getting rabies maybe, but that's another thing. "Jon Walker."

"I see." Brendon sounds like he wants to ask something else and Jon holds his breath, squinting across the lot as he waits. He thinks they parked at the other side of the lot, towards the general store. "I'll see you soon?" Brendon says vaguely and Jon hums before clicking off the phone and heading off, toes curling against the ground as he walks. It might be a little colder to walk barefoot than he expected it to be.

Jon shoves his hands into his pockets as he walks. Tom said he would get back later when he left, but if he got this drunk this fast? Jon doesn't know what to think. Tom should be able to find their bus even while inebriated after this long and he knows better than most that if there's one thing you really don't want to do, it's be left behind. The buses aren't leaving for another hour, but still. Mike got left behind by accident at a refuel stop a few days ago, and that had been bad enough. Leaving Tom behind at a venue? Jon closes his eyes.

The van is parked where Jon remembers it and when he turns the corner of the bus closest to it, he can see the purple nose sticking out from the other side. One of the Panic! kids - the one with the red glasses and the lavender hoodie - is crouching beside the van, scrunching his nose and shivering as he does something to a pair of expensive-looking shoes with a sharpie.

Jon walks up to him, curious about what he's doing. As he gets closer, he can see little hearts and stars covering the formerly pristine leather, punctuated by a rainbow over the toes. Jon laughs a little and the guy's head snaps up. "You came!" the guy says and Jon pinpoints him as Brendon - that voice really is unique in a very good way. By now, Jon's heard Panic! perform plenty of times and there's something really great about Brendon's voice as he sings.

Brendon stares at Jon for a second, then his expression changes and he scrunches his nose again. "Oh sorry!" he says, bouncing to his feet in a movie Jon could swear defied gravity. "You don't look like I thought you would. Our techs are all..." His forehead creases as he trails off and Jon can't help but laugh again, hooking his hands into his pockets.

"Tattooed?" he suggests and wiggles his toes as he catches Brendon looking at his toes.

"Yeah," Brendon replies, but he's really not thinking about that anymore, eyes flying between Jon's toes and Jon's face until Jon wants to ruffle his hair and laugh himself stupid. "Aren't you cold?" he says with huge eyes and an expression on his face that looks like it inspired the word 'earnest'.

"Not really," Jon tells him - it's not like it's a complete lie anyway - then sighs and straightens up. "I guess we should go find Tom?"

Brendon makes a double-take and his shoulders hunch a little, his eyes flickering towards the back of the van for a second before returning to him. The sparkle in his eye is gone and Jon kind of want to put it back. But this isn't his band and Tom needs him, so Jon just waits.

"Sorry," Brendon says and kind of shuffles backwards. He leaves the shoes where they are, moving past the van and towards their trailer that's standing in the lit part of the lot. Jon follows him, remaining quiet and not really knowing what to say anyway.

There's a little group waiting for them on the other side of the trailer, sitting on the concrete, leaning against the trailer side and, in Tom's case, half-sleeping and occasionally talking to himself. There's a blue-eyed kid and a skinny kid - the latter sitting as far from Tom as he can, pale and flinching every time Tom moves. The blue-eyed kid has an arm around his shoulders and is glaring at Tom, as if he's even aware of them. Jon closes his eyes for a second and put a little notch in front of the rumor that Panic! has alcohol issues. He'll have to keep an eye on Tom so he doesn't rib them too much.

Ignoring the Panics for a moment, Jon leans down and checks on Tom, flinching as the sweet scent of alcohol nearly punches him out. Tom hasn't exactly been careful with the drinking, that much is obvious. He crouches down and turns his head towards the other Panics, keeping himself between them and Tom. Whether it's to protect Tom from the blue-eyed kid's glaring or them from Tom's drunken stupor, Jon doesn't know.

"Sorry for him bothering you," Jon says, keeping his voice low as to not to startle them. The Panics look back, not really seeing him Jon thinks, except for Brendon, who bounces a little anxiously behind the other two, that stretched expression still on his face.

"No worries?" Brendon says, biting on his lip and roll over onto his heels. "It was nice to meet you."

Brendon seems to actually mean it too - at least a little - and Jon smiles, waving away a gnat from his face. "Good to meet you too, Brendon Urie," he says, then looks at the others, guessing at their names. "Um, Ryan Ross? And Brent Wilson?"

"Spencer Smith," the blue-eyed one corrects, eyes narrowing a little (but not in anger, Jon thinks). "Brent's not here right now."

Jon nods and smiles. "Well, it's nice to meet you too." He glances at Tom and sighs a little before hefting an arm around Tom and bringing him to his feet. Tom seems to wake up a little at that, at least enough that Jon thinks he'll manage to get him back to the TAI bus without help. He looks at the Panics a last time. "I guess I'll get Tom back to the bus now."

Spencer moves at that, almost rising and eyes snapping to Jon. "Need any help?" he says and moves before Jon even has the chance to answer.

Jon smiles and shakes his head – Ryan seems like he could need more help than Tom does right now. "Nah. I'm used to this." He hefts Tom higher and waves a little at them with his free hand. Ryan's mouth kind of twitches at that, which makes Spencer look at him with a strange look on his face. Jon doesn't really stay around to watch the rest of it though, maneuvering Tom towards the bus. And while Panic! will most likely get used to it sooner or later (probably sooner with the bands they're touring with), Jon decides to put in a word with TAI not to drag the Panics into their drunken escapades. They seem pretty nice after all.

***

Jon doesn't really run into them after that, nor does he ever meet the fourth Panic!. He sees them all before shows and such, but they don't really talk. Jon does, however, mention that it might be polite not to bother them while thoroughly intoxicated - that is, most nights when they can sleep in the day after.

The short tour ends and the next begins. Jon lets himself be swept away by the oddness that is touring and by the time he returns to Chicago for a few days, he feels like touring is his natural state and being home with his parents and Cassie is the equivalent of falling into another world. Listening to his family talk jobs and Cassie talk school, Jon sits on his hands and tries to listen through the want to return to the road. He knows it will fade, but it will take time; and this time around, Jon doesn't have it.

The last night in town, Jon runs into Pete while out with the band at one of the usual Decaydance hang-outs. It's a bar, of course, filled with people and loud music. Bill and the others have appropriated the better part of a corner  in one of the smaller areas, but Jon hasn't joined them so far, which is why Pete sees him the moment he comes in, face lighting up and that horse grin of his intensifying as he shoves his way over to Jon by the bar.

"JWalk!" Pete greets him, holding up his hand for a high-five. Jon slaps it, grinning back. Meeting Pete is like being back on the road, kind of, with his presence and the memories he brings with him of touring, singing, playing and living the music in the way only people who's thrown their belongings into a bag and headed out with a band to live from day to day on their music can. "Been a while," he says, and yeah, Jon remembers. He hasn't actually seen Pete in person since he was part of 5o4Plan.

"A few months," Jon agrees and thinks back. "I think it was that gig down..."

"Yeah, yeah," Pete interrupts, cocking his head and nodding and Jon knows he remembers as well as Jon does. "You and Patrick talked shop."

Jon's mouth quirks a little. "Good times," he offers, taking a step to the side as someone pushes by him. Pete follows him and they glide into a secluded corner between bar and wall. "Shouldn't you be on tour?" Jon asks, turning his back to the chaos. "I thought you had that thing back on the coast."

Pete scratches the back of his neck and rolls his eyes. "Nah. There's a few days off and I have this thing I want to talk to Butcher about, so I thought I'd drop by." He peers up at Jon through his lashes, even though he doesn't really have to. Pete's like that, and Jon accordingly rolls slightly on his toes. "Think you have the time?"

Anyone's that has known Pete for some time can hear the genuine question in that and Jon, as always, swears internally at what put it there and hooks an arm around his shoulder, steering him towards the TAI corner. It's past time he returns to them anyway. "We always have the time for the Great Pete Wentz," he says, nodding and trying to look suitably solemn.

"The Great Bass Nemesis has spoken,"Pete intones in turn, then slaps Jon's back and grins. "Joined another band yet?"

Pete was genuinely sad when 5o4Plan broke up, Jon knows, and Jon is the last former member that doesn't really have anything going on. "Haven't found a good one yet," he says and doesn't mention the months he didn't even have music.

"We'll find you one," Pete promises, then catches sight of the band. "Race you there?"

He's off before Jon has the chance to answer and Jon shakes his head a little, still smiling vaguely. Knowing better than to chase someone in flip-flops, Jon ambles after him at his own speed. They're going to the same place after all; he will catch up.

***

The days off go by quickly and soon Jon is on the road again. TAI seems to have a decent following even when traveling with more famous bands, which Jon realizes as they slowly make their way through the country. He can't help but mingle with the crowds as they queue outside the venues, taking photos and chatting as he goes, trying to take in the differences between here and there. So yeah, musically, TAI is doing fine, but intraband? Things are a lot rockier.

They have been on the road for just a few days the afternoon Jon finds himself lurking in the bunks with Tom. Butcher and Sisky have shut themselves into the back with the other techs playing poker or something, while Bill rips Mike a new one over something or another he perceived Mike let Sisky do that management cracked down on. Hiding in the bunks is becoming more and more common these days, Jon admits to himself. He stares at the bunk above him as he sips on the beer he liberated from Bill's stash.

Tom snagged his guitar on the way back here and sits in the narrow passageway, legs slung over Jon's in his bottom bunk and playing something that sounds like the bastard child between an old 5o4Plan song and Dixie Chicks. Not that Jon listens to Dixie Chicks, but anyway. He isn't sure where Tom is going with it, but it actually sounds kind of cheery and when Tom starts over for the third time, Jon starts keeping the beat with his foot, humming a little as Tom embellish a little to fit his voice.

The bus shudders as it hits a rough patch and Jon loses the beat when Tom's fingers hesitate. Before Tom has the chance to find the melody again, the door to the front lounge opens and Bill storms through, a thundercloud for a face. Not that Jon is that surprised - arguing with Mike, in his experience, is like arguing with a chunk of wood. When he sees the beer Jon sips at, he grits his teeth with such force the muscles in his cheeks spasm.

"Enjoy that," Bill says in a choked voice. "Because I doubt anything even vaguely inhibiting will be left in our sight for the next twenty years because someone--" His volume rises dramatically. "--can't remember that our bassist is underage and shouldn't be caught doing stuff that can get us all arrested!"

Jon puts down the beer and sits up, shaking his head at Tom as he opens his mouth to say something, because, yeah, talking to Bill when he's like this? Is something Tom really shouldn't be doing. But Tom ignores him and Jon closes his eyes and flops back. Well, fuck that. If he doesn't listen...

"Calm down," Tom just says, and Jon can see the wide-eyed, innocent look on his face that he perfected when he was ten and wanted more cookies from his grandmother. Which Bill knows as well as Jon does. "It's only a week or so, they'll..."

There's a sharp silence and Jon just knows Bill is glaring at Tom. "Oh yeah?" Bill finally says and yeah, there's that tone of bitten back fury Jon didn't want. "And how will you, Mr. Drinking-myself-stupid-before-going-on-stage, deal?"

Jon sighs and opens his eyes again, kicking Bill in the leg and frowning up at him. Bill looks down and flinches a little as he catches Jon's eyes, then turns and walks back into the front lounge without another word. Jon looks at Tom and he's blank-faced, brows knitted and his hands clenched around the neck of the guitar.

"Fuck," Jon says to himself, then kicks at Tom just for good measure. He didn't sign up to become Tom's mediator, really.

Tom doesn't say anything, just rolls into his own bunk and closes the drapes. Jon presses his lips together then flops down again. Most of the time he loves touring with his best friend, but sometimes? Yeah, it pretty much sucks.

***

When Christmas approaches and their booked dates dwindle, Jon finds himself wondering what to do with himself for the holidays. Sure, he will be home for Christmas Day (if he isn't, his mom will kill him) but he also knows that staying any longer would drive him crazy with the well-meaning advice that he should stop tagging along with 'bands that won't go anywhere' and get a 'real job'. Most of his friends will be with their families - Cassie included, even if he will see her the day before Christmas. Even Tom has familial duties he can't wiggle his way out of this year, as he put it, sipping on a beer and a grimace on his face.

"You're the only one that was actually home last Christmas," Tom says, flopping down on his back and staring at the top of his bunk. The beer in his hand jiggles with the thrumming of the bus and Jon snatches it before it jiggles itself out of Tom's hand and onto the floor. Tom might just be a tiny bit drunk. "You can get away with only being home for one day. Me, I have to sit with Dad's Aunt Philippa and listen to her telling the story of How She Immigrated To America."

"Such a challenge," Jon says and finishes off Tom's beer. He can just picture Tom's face really, sitting next to an elderly lady and trying to look like he's listening while he wishes he's somewhere else. After the tour they've had, Jon can't help but feeling he's kind of earned it.

"I know," Tom says and closes his eyes. For a moment, Jon thinks he's dropped off, then he starts talking again. "You could always get a job. Jack - you know him, right? - keeps blabbering about the opportunities in the photography business over Christmas."

Jon blinks. "That actually sounds fun," he slowly says, then reaches for his cellphone. There's a few dudes from college he can call and there is that judge from the photography competition back last year that said he could call if he was interested in some extra work...

And that is how Jon ends up working for a newspaper over Christmas shooting crowds and social stuff all over town. It's strangely freeing working while everyone else is celebrating - Jon can take his time taking pictures, not worrying about being in someone's way, can see things he never has before as he isn't part of what it is going on. He's an outsider and he's taking pictures from an outsider's PoV. It sets his heart thumping in a way photography hasn't done since it became his job and lost that something that made Jon fall in love with it in the first place. When he heads home for the day, Jon has taken enough pictures that he signs up for a Flickr account in lieu of emailing pictures to people and when he returns to work, he finds that he's already gaining a following beyond family and friends. Jon blames the fact the newspaper had gleefully added it to his credit.

"Dude," Tom tells him the next time they see each other, grinning at Jon in a way that makes him feel vaguely alarmed. "You're getting internet famous."

Jon chuckles a little and ignores the way Tom is looking at him oddly. "Nah, it's just temporary. It's not like I want to be famous anyway." At least not for fluffy society pieces.

"Just keep telling yourself that," Tom says and waggles his eyebrows before changing the subject, to Jon's relief. While it feels nice that he can sell his pictures - well, being famous for them isn't quite in his plans for the future.

***

With Christmas over and the tour on again, it's time to head off to Europe, and this time, Jon finds out when he takes a moment to check out the schedule and other pertinent information, they're touring with Panic!. And what's more: TAI is sharing a bus with them. Jon can't help but think that will be a disaster if Panic!'s as skittish as they were before and he's actually kind of grateful that he's on a tech bus (and tiny, teeny opening band bus) this time around. It doesn't mean he's not feeling guilty for leaving Panic! to deal with TAI on their own as he haggles his way into a bottom bunk and dumps his stuff before beginning to work. But if Panic! hasn't found their backbone yet, maybe it's time they do.

If someone asks Jon, he will have to admit that his memories of Panic! are kind of fuzzy by now. Oh, he remembers their skittishness, their youth but not their faces or even their general looks. He knows in an abstract kind of way that they're becoming more and more famous, but their music isn't his music, so he doesn't overly care.

The first night in the UK, finishing with preparations early, Jon grabs his camera from the bus and heads out into the crowds before Panic!'s performance. He slips out a side door, nods to security and sidles into the crowds. The constant movement of the people surrounding him easily shoves him forwards and Jon lets himself be carried forwards, only applying his elbows and slipping out as he reaches the drink vendor. Five minutes and two coins later, he has a bottle of water in his hand and leans against the wall next to the vendor, sipping at the water and watching the crowds.

No one really pays any attention to him and it's actually kind of nice. He likes people watching and this? This is premium people watching. Girls, boys, women and men; natives and people from neighbouring countries divided into TAI fans, Panic! fans, Decaydance fans. There's a lot of the Panic! ones actually, more than he maybe expected, wearing most homemade t-shirts and clutching at bags containing official ones as if they fear they will be snatched away.

Curious, Jon sidles up to a group of mostly women his age wearing some of the better attempts at band t-shirts. "Hi," he says and smiles as they throw him surprised looks. "Saw your t-shirts - I'm just wondering if you're fans of Panic? I didn't know they were that known overseas."

One of them nods, her short hair bobbing. "Yes, you're from the US, right?" Jon nods and she continues. "They were featured on one of our music shows back in December, I think?" She glances at her friends and they nod, another picking up the thread.

"Yeah, with a singer we really like." She mentions a name Jon doesn't recognize. "We've been fans since. I think most of us fans here discovered them then." And there certainly seems to be a lot of them, Jon thinks, shifting a little.

The first woman cocks her head at him, her eyes sharpening. "You're with the band?" she asks, probably spotting the backstage pass Jon shoved down a pocket before heading out. Jon knows better than to say he's a tech, so he just holds up his camera.

"Photographer," he says, relieved when they nod; he asks for permission to take a picture while at it.

They titter a little but readily agree and when Jon makes moves to go away, one of them touches his arm briefly. "Do you have anywhere we can see the pictures online?" she asks, looking at him through her lashes.

Jon shrugs. "Sure," he says and scribbles down his Flickr URL before waving goodbye and heading inside again to grab a good place before the crowds enter.

By the time Panic! comes on to play, Jon is only one of many in front of the scene, leaning against the barrier with weight on his back against his side as people press against him and scream, greeting Panic! as they turn towards the crowd. Jon snaps a picture of Brendon as he steps up to the mike, following it up with one of Ryan as he plugs in the guitar, of Brent as he flashes a grin at the crowd, of Spencer as he tips his head backwards and laugh at something his tech says. He presses backwards, letting people swarm in from the sides and takes a few more pictures through a sea of arms, letting the scene blur into becoming the background to mobile phones, hands and wrist bands. Then Jon lowers the camera and just listens.

Panic's music is guitars, quick quick lyrics mixing with drawn out, almost playful snatches of melodies that turn vengeful halfway through and blur into something menacing but fascinating. There are places in which Brendon's voice doesn't quite manage, moments the bass is a little off the beat, times when the words doesn't quite match the melody, but there's something in there that makes Jon's heart thump and his throat sick with the pull to sing along. And the crowd agrees with him, singing along loudly enough that Brendon is laughing and joking into the mike that maybe they should take over.

Jon stops listening and edges towards the barrier again, something close to foreknowledge settling like a heavy weight in his stomach. He signals for security to get him over the barricade, showing his backstage pass so he can slip away unnoticed into the back and to his work.

"Any good photos?" Tom asks as Jon sneaks into the green room to deposit the camera with Tom's things while he works. Tom's on the couch, leaning back and relaxing with a beer at his elbow and his iPod in his lap, not plugged in. His speech doesn't sound slurred and Jon's grateful, because if what he saw out there... Jon wrenches the thought off its track and into the back of his mind. "I saw you heading out."

"I'm not sure," Jon says instead and knits his eyebrows. He can still hear the thump thump thump of their melody in his bones. "The music isn't bad, but their performance is a little... Yeah."

"The eternal problem," Tom agrees and eyes Jon's camera with pursed lips. "Steal the bathroom on Monday?"

Jon calculates the rolls of film he has used and: "Yeah. I'm starting to get behind and...I think I want those photos developed."

"Mmm. They good then?" Now Tom starts to sound slurred and Jon closes his eyes. Then he casually reaches out for Tom's beer, chugging the rest himself. Tom glares a little, then shakes his head and sighs, slumping back. He isn't too far gone then.

"I guess," Jon replies and pitches the beer into the litter basket. "Not my type of music." But he still can't stop thinking about it, that strange feeling that their performance had settled in him. It made him never want to see them again - which was quite frankly silly - but true. Not surprisingly, that wasn't in the cards anyway, because the next day, Jon comes back from an equipment run and everything begins to change.

***

The stage is supposed to be empty; the fans long ago ushered out and the bands shipped off to their buses. Only the tech crew still scurries around backstage, cleaning and carrying stuff to the trailers. Or that's how it's supposed to be, but when Jon turns up to fetch the last amp, there's someone on stage and it isn't one of his fellow techs.

"Hello?" he says and peers into the shadows. Someone turned off the main lights while he carried out the last box and Jon didn't turn them on again, thinking he would only have to fetch and carry. The only things he can see are vague shadows and the glint of metal and Jon hopes it's someone who has permission to be in here, because security isn't anymore.

The shadow stirs towards the back of the scene, and for a moment Jon can see a dark shirt and pale skin before they turn into Panic!'s bassist. Jon exhales quietly and notices Brent has his bass around his neck - he really should have turned that back in by now. He frowns and steps out on the stage. "Are you all right?" Jon asks, because really, what reason can there be to hanging around a dark stage.

Brent shrugs, the movement somehow managing to be sullen, and doesn't look up from his hands on the bass. "Guess so," he says and his voice is dull like tarnished silver. "Are we going?"

Jon shrugs and puts on a smile, hoping he looks reassuring. "Not for a little while yet. We're still cleaning out."

"Oh." The bassist looks up and his eyes widen as he sees Jon. "You're TAI's tech," he says, blinking once and really. How that's a surprise, Jon doesn't know. "The...bassist."

"Yeah," Jon agrees and nods with a little smile that manages to be genuine. "Jon Walker, at your service. Tech and camera man extra-ordinaire."

"Brent," Brent replies and his voice is less dull as a smile edges its way onto his face, looking intently at Jon. It seems like Jon might not know Brent, but Brent seems to be quite aware of him. Jon shifts a little as Brent continues. "I watched you do one of those episodes once. It looked like fun."

"It is," Jon agrees and wiggles his toes a little, settling back on his heels, because shooting TAI TV is something he'll never tire of talking about. "You should try it. Panic!, I mean."

Brent looks away and that dull feeling is back. "Yeah, maybe," he says and hefts the bass over his head and settles it in the crook of his arm, leaning it on his leg. "I should probably turn this in to the techs."

Jon makes a quick calculation - Brent probably doesn't know where Panic!'s trailer is and the buses are leaving pretty soon. "Give me a second and I'll accompany you," Jon suggests and nods towards the last amp. "I'm going there anyway. You can help me make sure I don't stumble on anything."

Brent's eyes flicker to Jon's flip-flop-clad feet and smirk a little, the expression bringing life to his pale face. "With those shoes, I can see why you need it," he says, looking up at Jon through the lank strands of his dark hair, and Jon can't help but laugh.

"But I wouldn't give them up for the world," he replies and walks over to the amp, hefting it into his arms. Jon looks at Brent over the top of it and waggles his eyebrows. Brent stifles a smile and heads towards the edge of the stage, foregoing the steps to jump off the edge. Jon follows, edging down more carefully.

They walk silently through the corridors, Jon giving him directions every now and then to ensure they go the shortest way. Only when the chilly air of the outside hits them through the open door do they stop and Brent glances at Jon before looking away again. "Do you..." he begins, biting his lip. The expression on his face makes Jon flash back to Brendon for a moment before focusing on Brent.

"Do I...?" he prompts, shifting his grip a little.

Brent shakes his head and steps through the door. "Nothing," he says and looks around for Panic!'s trailer. Jon catches his eye and nods in the right direction. "Thanks," Brent offers, then walks off, turning his head once to look at Jon before continuing. Jon sighs and heads off in his own direction. Brent seems like a nice guy, if a little overwhelmed. It would probably ease as it usually did.

Catching sight of his fellow techs, Jon hurries his steps. If they get things packed within the next ten minutes, there will be time for a trip to the supermarket before heading off, and it's a long ride to the next stop.

***

Jon doesn't really see Brent again for the next day. Well, he sees him, just as he sees the other Panic! guys, but with the whole shooting TAI TV and actually teching, nothing really comes out of it. Not that he particularly cares, but. Brent looked like he wanted to talk to someone yesterday and he seemed to like Jon, so. Yeah, the possibility's definitely there and with Jon's gut is saying the same, he finds himself waiting for Brent to show up.

But Brent doesn't approach him and that Friday Jon finds himself sprawled in one of the seats across from the stage in some sort of passive protest against his gut being wrong. TAI has taken over the green room for some hijinks Jon bows out of without even thinking when he hears the Brent's bass vibrate from the scene, realizing it's Panic's turn to practice. He sneaks into the hall to hover in the shadows, watching as Brendon bobs around the stage, walking over to Ryan every now and then to talk things over while Spencer watches from the back of the scene, something like a frown on his face, and Brent stands to the side, looking like a deer in the headlights for some reason Jon can't fathom. 

The music sounds good, Jon thinks, leaning back and looking at them. There's really no reason for Brent to look like he does. The bass line follows the melody and it's pretty decent sounding all in all. Then they ease into the 'we don't care about critics' song and Jon winces, echoed by Brendon on stage. Brent's falling off the beat, just a smidgen, and it makes their whole performance off. He waits for them to stop and recenter, but they don't and Jon frowns. It's an easily fixed problem - take out some of the embellishments and Brent will be on the beat again (they really should have done this already - live isn't the same as the studio). He leans forwards, peering at them, and it's almost like watching a car crash: Ryan keeps hunching himself deep over his guitar and Brendon looks like he will crawl out of his skin every time a note comes in the wrong place. The tension is coiling in the air and Jon wants to say something to break it, opens his mouth to do it.

Then Spencer beats him to it, stopping to play in the middle of the song and placing the sticks on the ground carefully, his fingers lingering before he sits up. "Break," Spencer says and there's enough stone in his voice Ryan just takes off his guitar and Brendon heads straight off the stage, hands clenched by his sides, Spencer following tight on his heels. Brent is left alone behind them, looking after them with a blank face and thinned lips, still holding the bass.

Jon heaves himself to his feet and moves without thinking further about it, shuffling towards the stage with enough noise Brent looks at him as he jumps onto the stage, a strange knit to his eyebrows.

"Interesting songs," Jon offers and hooks his thumbs into his belt. "I like the chorus."

Brent twitches and looks away. "They're good," he says and sounds like it has nothing to do with him. There's a problem there, but it isn't Jon's to solve, he knows it. But he can't help but continue talking, walking over to pick up Brent's secondary bass as he does. 

"Who does the music?" Jon asks, idly trying out the melody snatches he remembers from the song and ignoring the way Brent looks at him. It makes his stomach clench anyway, so it's only self-protection.

"Ryan and partly Brendon," Brent says and moves closer, apparently giving up on glaring. He watches Jon's fingers as they slip over the strings and winces as Jon goes wrong on the melody. "Brendon plays like a billion instruments, so..." He shrugs.

"Seen him play a couple," Jon agrees, cocking his head as he tries out one of the trickier parts of the melody. "You seem to have a lot of intricate stuff in the songs though. I don't think I could do it on a regular basis." Jon plays through the snippet, notes out of place from time to time, then does it again, improvising on the parts he can't quite remember. "The sequence in the middle there is kind of tricky," he comments and looks up at Brent through his lashes.

Brent's looking at him, something odd in his eyes and his lip firmly between his teeth - a nervous habit probably. "It's just..." Brent steps in and touches Jon's hand firmly, nudging his fingers into place, Jon letting them stretch and bow on his touch. Jon plays through the snippet, and it doesn't actually sound half bad. Brent smiles and step back, pushing his hair back from where it hangs pretty constantly in his face. "It's pretty hard," he offers.

"I've noticed," Jon says, putting down the bass. He doesn't know when it was, but somewhere in between coming over and letting Brent guide him, Jon decides to help him. He narrows his eyes as he tries to figure out how to phrase it, how to not offend or sound too bossy. "Seems a little complicated for a live performance," he slowly says, watching Brent's face. He doesn't seem like he's taking offense, so Jon blunders on. "If your timing is a tiny bit off, the whole thing is off."

"Yeah." The corners of Brent's mouth stretch into something that's most definitely not a smile and he hunch his shoulders a little. "But it sounds wrong otherwise." Jon can hear arguments in his voice, hundreds of rehashings and no results. But he can also see Ryan coming out from the shadows, a flat look on his face but his shoulders slumped as if a weight has suddenly been lifted.

"Walker," Ryan says as he comes close enough and Brent jumps about three miles into the air, spinning around. He doesn't say anything though, as Ryan stares at Jon, a strange twinkle in his eye. "You're TAI's bass tech," he says. "Formerly of 5o4Plan."

"That's right." Jon leans back on his heels and hopes he's reading Ryan correct.

"You played our song," Ryan challenges, or says, Jon isn't quite sure, and from the look on Brent's face, he isn't either. Jon decides to go on his gut feeling again, even though it let him down about Brent. It's usually right after all.

"I did," he says and nods, smiling. "It's a nice song."

"You changed it." It's said in a complete monotone and most would probably think it threatening. But Jon can see Brent twitching behind Ryan, looking at him with such huge eyes Jon almost think they'll pop out as Ryan turns at him. "Can you play it like that?" he demands.

Brent swallows and his hands clench around the bass. He looks between Jon and Ryan. "Yes?" he says and his fingers twitch into place without thinking. "It's a variation - almost like the one..."

"The one you showed us last week," Ryan interrupts and Jon can see the twinkle in his eyes again, the way his shoulders slump a little further. He smiles to himself as Ryan continues. "Play it like that tonight."

And that's his work done. Jon grins to himself and sidles away without listening further to what they're saying, sits down in his seat just as Spencer and Brendon return to the stage. Ryan tells them something, probably about the change, then they return to their places. The rest of the practice, in Jon's opinion, goes much smoother, and Ryan's even smiling in places, letting Brendon bounce closer to him than he had before. Brent's grinning as well, sharing glances with Spencer, and when Jon leaves, they actually look like they're having fun.

The whole thing gets Jon thinking, however, even if he keeps it to himself. He's been hearing bits and pieces about Panic!'s situation and to be honest? They're probably a bit in over their heads. Jon has the impression the went more or less straight from garage to studio to gigs and doing it that way, they've missed out on a lot of the weathering bands do, figuring things out together. They're doing it now instead, doing it while playing shows and dealing with getting famous, and it's wearing on them. How they get over it - if they get over it - is what will make or break them and from what Jon has seen, he kind of hopes it will be the former.

***

The next day ends up being gloriously easy on the actual work Jon does for the tour. They get to the venue early, nothing goes wrong and Jon finds he even has the time to snatch Tom from the rest of the band and head out to fiddle with their cameras. The venue people tell them of a nice park not too far away and he and Tom end up spending most of the time before sound check taking silly pictures and competing over who can take the most pictures of the skittish park bunnies. It's nice, having the time to do something together, just the two of them, and when they head back to sound check Jon and Tom are both grinning.

They part ways as they arrive, Tom heading for his band while Jon steers his steps towards the stage to finish set things up. It goes blissfully easy and when Tom shows up early, grin on his face and bright-eyed, Jon has the time to pay him some attention for once. Waving his cellphone at Jon, Tom plants himself in front of him and stares down as Jon plugs in the last few cables. "Guess who called," Tom challenges.

Jon tilts his head back, grinning up at Tom. "Stevie Wonder?"

"Close but no potato," Tom says and walks over to his guitar, stuffing his phone down his pocket. "Nick."

"Nicky Scimeca?" Jon leans back to get a better look at Tom as he fiddles with the strap of his guitar. His hands still in his lap. "Damn. How is he?"

"You know, playing around with his computers." Tom strums the guitar randomly and looks at Jon with something in his face Jon hasn't seen in a while. "He's thinking of starting something with Pete."

"And Pete's always starting something," Jon summarizes and gets to his feet. They haven't heard from Nick in a while - he seemed a little down last time Jon saw him, but he certainly seems to be better now. "Do you think something will come out of it?"

Tom shrugs, but his eyes are still bright. "Probably," he says, then gives Jon a thoughtful look. "Grab Mike's guitar. I want to play something."

Jon weighs the possibility of Mike being pissed off (slim) against a jamming session (fun) for about two seconds, then heads over and slings the guitar around his neck and bares his teeth at Tom in a challenge. "You're on."

By the time the others arrive, Jon and Tom are serenading each other with sappy love songs to the tunes of Rammstein to the general amusement of anyone walking past and when he hands off the guitar to Mike, Jon is grinning broadly.

"Nice song," Mike tells him with a smirk.

Jon skims a bow and heads off to do his work as William and company take over the stage. He ignores the feeling of loss in the vicinity of his heart - at least he has music and the road again. That will just have to be enough.


	2. Chapter 2

At early o'clock in the morning the next day, the buses pulls in at a gas station for a top up. The only reason Jon knows this is because he can't sleep, staring at the top of his bunk and wishing there was something to do. The others are still passed out - the drinking spree the previous night was epic - but there's still something off for Jon, his mind swirling and busy, preventing him from being part of the drinking. So when he feels the bus slow down, the slight vibration sharp in his sleep-weary bones, Jon rolls out of his bottom bunk and pads out into the front lounge, grabbing a hoodie he's left lying around and stuffing his feet into a pair of flip-flops from the small mountain he's somehow stacked by the door.

The morning air is pissing cold and Jon shivers as he stretches a little, looking over the concrete-covered expanse surrounding the station. The driver of the bus glances at him and tells him to be back in ten; Jon nods and shuffles off, feeling in the pockets of his sweats for some change to buy something. Coming up with nothing, he settles for walking over to the fence on the other side of the road, perching on it with his hands propping him up on each side. It's deathly quiet, only the slight noise made by the drivers as they do their thing across the room disturbing the silence.

Slowly, Jon becomes aware of someone watching him and he turns his head slightly, peering in the direction of the buses. The band bus is open and Brent is standing in there, hair drawn back in some silly kind of pony tail and flannel pajama pants pulled tight around his waist, bunched along his midsection along with his zip-up hoodie. As Jon watches, he turns back inside only to return after a few seconds with a pair of shoes on and Jon only has a second to wonder if he's coming over before he is, striding over quickly in the manner of someone losing his warmth at a rapid rate, hands stuffed deep into his pockets.

"Can't sleep?" Jon asks, his breath sticking uncomfortably in his throat as Brent comes within hearing distance. He pulls himself up right, balancing with his feet on the lower rib.

Brent shakes his head, biting his lip. "Homesickness," he offers and Jon's slightly surprised he volunteers the information. While Jon likes Brent plenty, Brent hasn't exactly given off the same impression. "It's my grandmother's birthday today."

"Ah." Jon nods and dips his head slightly, biting back a smile he can't quite explain. He remembers the feeling after all - the feeling of missing out. "Special occasion?"

Brent hops up beside Jon, hissing a little as his hoodie rides up, baring the skin of his back. "We always go out," he says quietly and fiddles a little with the hem. Jon glances at him - something flipping a little in his stomach that he doesn't know what to do about. "She's been alone since grandpa died, so we usually spend the whole day doing things together. This is the first time I'm not there."

Jon doesn't think, just reaches up and squeezing Brent's neck lightly. "It gets better," he says and tries not be distracted by the warmth of Brent's skin. Brent's eyes flicker towards Jon, dark in the dusk of night and Jon drops his hand. "For most at least. Some never get used to it."

"And you?" Brent turns his head, seeks his eyes. Jon looks away, and there's something desperate in Brent's voice as he continues. "Did it get easier for you? I know you were in some sort of band."

"5o4Plan," Jon replies, clearing his voice as it comes out in nothing more than a whisper. Brent's still watching him, and Jon wants him to stop. Wants him to never stop. "And yeah, yeah it did. There are still regrets, but...I learned how to live with it."

Brent's shoulders slump and Jon has to stop himself from reaching out again, clenching his fist around the rib of the fence. "I don't know if I can," Brent admits, quietly enough Jon doesn't quite catch it and he isn't sure he was meant to. He can just imagine though; the others in the band are positively thriving. It might not be easy being the one who's not.

Jon glances in the direction of the buses. The drivers are finishing up; soon the caravan will be on its way again. He looks back at Brent, who looks pale in the illumination from the yellow street lights, who sits with his shoulders hunched and his head ducked as if in an attempt to hide.

"Want to ride with us the rest of the night?" Jon bursts out before he has the chance to check himself, reaching out to bump Brent companionably in the shoulder. "We could be insomniacs together, play cards. I bet someone from Las Vegas would know lots of card games."

Brent smiles a tiny smile, but it's bright and it's genuine and it lights up his face in a way that makes Jon's toes curl, just a little bit. "Not really," he tells Jon. "Gambling isn't my thing." But Brent nevertheless follows Jon as he heads off towards the tech bus, breath white in the air.

The driver nods at Jon as he returns. "Cutting it close," he warns and glances at Brent, one eyebrow slightly cocked.

"Yeah, well." Jon shrugs and nudges Brent towards the door, punching in the code with stiff fingers. His skin seems to cling to the metal and it's a relief to step inside. The sudden warmth hits Jon like a sledgehammer and he shudders violently for a few seconds as he pitches off his flip-flops and beelines for the couch. Snatching a blanket from the back of it, Jon wraps it around himself and throws another at Brent as he gingerly drops down next to Jon. 

"Nice bus," Brent offers tentatively as he wraps himself in the blanket and pulls his feet up beneath himself.

Jon glances around, noting the beer bottles and general debris strewn across all surfaces. Having lived with TAI on previous tours, he can honestly say this is worse than their bus, and TAI aren't exactly neat freaks. "Yeah," he says with a raised eyebrow. "Real nice."

Brent chuckles softly, a smile tugging on his lips and catching a strand of hair before he spits it out. "You should see Brendon's apartment," he confides. "If there's a slob worse than Brendon, I really don't want to meet him."

"You really are good friends, aren't you," Jon says, thinking back at those days crossing the country in only a small van in the wake of larger buses.

"Yeah." Brent's voice is soft and his eyes warm as he looks down, his mouth tinting into a smile that Jon wish he could feel himself. But there are years and failures and successes laying between him and smiles like that; Jon doesn't think it's likely they will reverse, no matter how much he might like it.

Jon's throat tightens and he throws out a question in an attempt to distract himself, drags something out that he have been wondering in any case. "How long have you been playing bass?" Jon asks.

Brent frowns a little - if at the change of subject or the question, Jon doesn't know. For once, he doesn't even care, just listens as Brent speaks, trying to immerse himself into the situation, drown in Brent's voice rather than the insistent hum of voices in the back of his mind. "Since I was...twelve," Brent says. "Something like that. I can't really remember anymore."

"Guitar lessons since I was nine," Jon offers, and it's not wholly meant to appease his want of distraction. "I learned bass in high school."

"Band?" Brent asks and turns towards Jon, looking interested. Why, Jon can't imagine, considering that his high school life is the last thing he'd want to hear about himself. 

"Kind of," Jon says and follows Brent's movement. "I was going to be in one, only I ended up as a lead singer instead."

Brent blinks, and the expression on his face is actually kind of insulting. "You can sing?" Jon gives him a look and Brent flushes a little. "Not that I mean anything bad by that," he adds. "We started off with Ryan after all."

Jon decides to take it as the peace offering it is and nods. "Not really," he says. "But high school, you know. You think you can do anything."

Something stalls a little in Brent's eyes then, and his mouth twists in a way Jon doesn't like. "Right." The word is sharp, almost choppy and angry. "You're older than us?"

Jon isn't sure why his age seems to bother Brent, but it isn't like it's secret. Or as if he's ashamed of it, so he answers anyway, keeping his voice neutral. "Twenty," he says. "You're eighteen, right?"

The weird look in Brent's eyes disappears and instead he looks almost wistful. "Almost. I missed my graduation for this." He looks down  and when he speaks, Jon knows that Brent wants him to hear, wants to leave the burden on someone else for a while. How that makes him feel - special, or just someone unimportant that can take it - Jon doesn't know. "I want to go home."

Jon exhales and that's it. His mind is back where it began, the ugly screaming in the back of his head leaving a sour feeling in his mouth. But still, he isn't about to share that with Brent. Jon's not that selfish. So instead he says: "Yeah. Yeah, I know what you mean." And he might even remember.

They stop talking and turn on the TV on mute instead, watching bad made-for-TV movies. Brent drops off against the window sometime just after dawn and Jon finds himself wishing he could do the same. But sleep isn't really in the cards, so he changes channel instead, stopping on an O.C. re-run. When one of the techs stumbles in a few hours later, Jon's still awake, Brent a warm weight against his side.

***

The day quickly turns hectic for Jon. Sisky seems to be on some sort of string-breaking spree and Jon is running out of replacements. He finishes off switching out the latest break and flickers his fingers over the strings, wincing a little at the discord. Three strings, three re-tunings. Jon never thought he'd think this, but he's actually getting tired of doing this. He removes the kit from the bench he's appropriated for the time being and hefts the strap over his head, humming under his breath.

"The Killers?" A voice says behind him, not quite familiar enough for Jon to recognize, but he's sure it's someone from the tour. "Huh. You don't look the type."

Jon turns his head and finds himself looking at Spencer, who's leaning against the wall, hip cocked and with a smile that edges in somewhere in between bitchy and beaming. He seems settled in for the moment, but Jon has no clue why - they aren't exactly BFFs. "The Killers transcends type," Jon replies carefully, smoothly, and nods towards him. "The first rule of Jon Walker's Music Appreciation class."

Spencer raises an eyebrow and it somehow looks vaguely mocking. "That so." He checks off the wall with a hip and glides over to sit down on the bench, one leg on each side. The shoes Spencer is wearing are probably worth ten times as much as Jon's most expensive pairs, Jon realizes, and yeah, there's the difference between tech and band all at once. "You've been spending time with Brent," Spencer notes quietly.

Jon begins to work on the bass again and pulls one leg up beneath himself, flip-flop dangling precariously off one toe. "He's nice," Jon replies and watches his fingers tweak the knobs. Spencer shifts a little and Jon watches the movement from the corner of his eye. "There's no reason I shouldn't."

"No." Spencer sounds pleased and Jon looks up, startled. He's actually smiling and Jon can't help but find that strange with the conversation they're having. "No, there isn't. He's been a little...twitchy lately. It's probably good for him to spend time with someone not in the band."

Jon picks at the strings again, not sure how to reply. The sound is much better this time and Jon makes a pleased noise before trying to reply with something that at least makes sense. "Touring tends to do that to you," he says and hopes it's cryptic enough that Spencer will let it go.

"Mmm." Spencer doesn't say anything more, but his gaze rests at Jon with a weight he can't decide is uncomfortable or not. A weight that has something to do with the reason Spencer's here talking a tech he's probably not thought of two subsequent seconds before. "You were in a band then," Spencer states after a few seconds. It's really kind of strange, the fact that everyone seems to be asking him that lately.

"We split up last year," Jon agrees, forcing his hands to keep working and not tighten. He does however look up, meeting Spencer's eyes head on. This really has gone far enough. "Are we going somewhere with this?"

Spencer is sitting cross-legged on the bench now, hands in his lap and a curious expression on his face. The look in his eyes almost makes him seem older than Jon, even though he's much younger. "Nowhere in particular," Spencer finally says and nods in a way that seems to imply that, yeah, maybe Jon's a nice guy after all. Jon's not sure if he's insulted or not. "Brent just seems happier. I wanted to see who you were."

Jon grits his teeth. That's it. "A bass tech," he states and he puts as much sharpness in his voice as he can. He plants his feet on the ground, leaning forwards. "A bass tech and a friend."

Spencer smiles then, and his smile is brilliant. "Yes, I'm beginning to get that." He rises to his feet and looks like he might walk away before hesitating. "Come see us sometime," Spencer offers. "Brent would like that, I think. And Brendon's curious about you."

Jon stares at him and weighs Brent's friendship against Spencer's apparent bipolar personality. "Maybe," he says after a while. After all, Brent seems to like him. He can't be that bad, right? "I can't say that I'm not curious."

Spencer laughs and there's actual joy in there, so much that Jon finds himself smiling. "I'll see you sometime then," he says, then nods and walk away. Jon watches him until he turns a corner, then grabs the bass and heads off to the rest of the equipment. Panic! might be a crazy band, but they do seem nice enough. Maybe he'll even do as Spencer said and head over sometime.

***

The thing about touring with people that have known him since he was a kid, is that they know what makes him tick. And with TAI in another bad mood after a row with management, (Sisky, underage drinking _again_, an enterprising cop with his knickers in a twist) everyone is in a bad mood. And everyone feels like sharing. Up until he reunites with the band after the show, Jon was in a good mood; now he feels like strangling someone.

"What the fuck were you thinking of, sneaking Sisky into a bar?" Jon asks, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against he wall, jaws clenched. Two steps inside the door, and already he has a headache. Must be a record. "Because I pretty much thought we learned that lesson last time this happened."

"He sneaked in by himself," Bill answers from his position sprawled over the dinner table, head in his arms. He looks kind of defensive and he really should, because if Jon doesn't get a real answer out of him soon, Jon will rip his head off. "Tom was supposed to stay with him, but you know Tom."

Yeah, he does. Jon sighs and grits his teeth one before forcing his shoulders down and relaxing. And they really should have known better than to leave something like that to Tom. Which makes him want to rip Bill's head off for a whole other reason. "I'm heading out," Jon says to no one in particular and shoves up and off the couch. There's still half an hour before the buses head off and there's no way he's spending them at this bus.

The parking lot outside is beginning to empty; the occasional straggling fan hoping to see their idol and staff finishing up on stuff at the venue the only ones still out and moving. Panic! is out somewhere, so no Brent (or Spencer, Ryan and Brendon). No one to blow off steam with. Jon shoves his hands down his pockets, not sure where to go.

In the end, he heads off to the nearby supermarket, picking up some snacks for the ride and a bottle or two of coke. The driver has already taken his place as Jon returns, so he doesn't dawdle outside. Inside, one of the techs has started up some video game or another Jon doesn't recognize and doesn't really care to, so he steps through to the bunks. He might as well get to sleep early.

"Jon?" Tom blinks at him with alcohol-inhibited fuzziness when Jon pulls back the drapes to his bunk and Jon swears, quickly shifting his weight backwards to interrupt his downward movement. Well, that explains where he had disappeared when Bill went on the warpath. Hiding on Jon's bus is really kind of smart of him. "I thought you were with Bill."

Jon holds up his loot and breathes through his mouth. The sweet/sharp scent rising off of Tom makes his stomach curdle and really, couldn't Tom have found another place to hide just tonight? "Supermarket," he says and pitches the bag into the bunk without a care for Tom's feet before toeing off his flip-flops and tossing them into his open bag in the random stuff bunk across from his. "You must have started the party pretty much directly after coming off the stage."

Tom scratches his head, squinting in the way he does when he's roaring drunk and heading for more. "Nah, before."

And that's... Jon bites off the thought, because really? Tom is his best friend, but drinking before a show? He should have checked up on Tom during the afternoon - being busy with Sisky and his magically breaking strings isn't an excuse. And this certainly explains why the mood had been so poor on the band bus. A sober Tom during the shows is becoming rare, and quite frankly? Jon is beginning to get worried and not a little bit mad.

Something smacks Jon in the shoulder and Jon reflexively reaches up to catch it, finding his fingers closing around his cellphone, beeping at him as he accidentally presses a few buttons. Flipping it close, Jon raises an eyebrow at Tom. "Want me to call someone?"

Tom rolls his eyes and it looks strange as his eyes go from all pupil to all white. Jon shudders and flops down on the floor. "The bass guy from Panic! texted you. Something about riding with them tomorrow."

Jon frowns, trying to remember if he ever gave out his number to any of them. He's pretty sure he hasn't. Which doesn't mean much on tour, but anyway. "I didn't know he has my number," Jon says, eyeing Tom. He doesn't think it's him, but miracles happen.

"Think he asked Sisky the other day." Tom yawns and slumps back, turning his head into the pillow. His next words come out muffled, and Jon just knows he's going to fall asleep any second. "Sisky said something about being surprised he could even talk."

"Hmm." Jon thumbs on the phone, skimming the new message and tapping in an answer. Tom is asleep by the time he finishes, as expected, and Jon rolls his eyes before throwing the mobile into the nest of pillows in the corner. He will just have to kick Tom out to his own bus at the next stop. Jon yawns a little and heads off to the bathroom, pulling off his t-shirt as he goes. When Spencer invited him to their bus, he didn't think the invitation would be followed up on - at least not this soon. But with the conversation they'd had, with the talk that went among the techs - Jon isn't sure what this means. Panic! has the reputation of keeping to themselves; that Jon has been invited to spend time with them... He stares at himself in the mirror. Well, there will be answers tomorrow, he thinks. And until then, there really isn't any use in worrying.

***

Of course, things don't turn out that way, because the next day, Jon wakes up with a cold headache, a stuffy nose and the severest case of hoarseness Jon has ever had. For a few minutes, he just lays there, wishing he could take the day off. Then he forces himself to remember that no, that isn't possible and rolls out of bed, pulling on the thickest of his knitted shirts and a pair of actual socks before heading into the kitchen and the coffee machine. He may have to work, but he'll be damned if he will do it without coffee. The rest of the time until they arrive at the venue, Jon spends huddling in his bunk, listening to stupid stuff on his iPod and wishing the world would end so he could get some more sleep.

It doesn't though, to Jon's disappointment, and as the bus slows to a stop, Jon shuffles out with the other techs, heading towards the trailers. As he and the others move stuff into the venue, Jon tries to breathe through his mouth and not move too suddenly, which works quite fine until it's time for the heavy stuff. Standing by the trailer, he glares at the contents and wishes he didn't have to do this.

"I don't think the amps will move by themselves?" Brent says from behind Jon, laughter in his voice, and Jon spins around, sniffling a little as the cold makes his nose run. Damn weather. Brent's eyes widen a little. "You're sick."

Well, yeah, Jon's mind whines, but Jon tells it to shove it and tries on a smile. "It's only a cold."

Brent looks skeptic, and Jon has to admit it's more than slightly gratifying. "Your face is all red and you sound like you've been eating chalk."

"Yeah, well." Jon sighs and sniffles a little more. Two more rounds and setting up and he will be done so he can go burrow under his blanket for a few hours. He reaches into the trailer. Might as well get it over with.

Brent places a hand on Jon's shoulder, and Jon can feel the warmth of it through layers of clothes, the discrepancies in temperature making him shiver. "Let me," he says, glancing at Jon through the hair falling into his face as he reaches past Jon and grabs the amp. Jon bites his lip.

"Dude," Jon says. Brent's hefting the amp out of the trailer and Jon really didn't think it would look as easy as it does. Apparently Brent has arm muscles somewhere beneath those loose-fitting shirts. But still... "Are you sure? Those things are pretty heavy."

Brent gives him a look over the case that speaks volumes of what he thinks about that particular stupidity and Jon really has to agree considering Brent's not even breaking a sweat. "Who did you think carried the stuff before we warranted our own techs?" he asks dryly. "Ryan?"

Jon blinks. It's been hard to remember lately how new Panic! actually are with the crowds coming to see them, but with Brent mentioning it like that... Two tours ago, they were still in a van. "Point," Jon allows and reaches inside the trailer for the other amp. When Brent glares at him, Jon only shrugs. "To get it over with," he explains and Brent apparently sees the reason in that, because he starts walking towards the open door, Jon at his heels. Inside, Jon takes point while Brent walks a step behind, panting a little as they navigate a slight flight of steps. It's a bit comforting actually, as Jon feels like he's been running a marathon in the Sahara.

"You going to stay and watch today?" Brent asks as they near the stage, and Jon doesn't think he's imagining the hint in his voice that says Brent actually cares about the answer. It makes him smile a little, hiding the twitch of lips by turning his head away. "I haven't seen you in a few days."

Jon starts, hands almost slipping on the amp. He wasn't aware that anyone knew he usually watched Panic's set. But maybe he shouldn't be surprised - Spencer seems remarkably observant and he doesn't seem like someone who don't share things like that with his band. "Probably not," Jon admits, glancing at Brent. "I'm tired as hell."

Brent hums thoughtfully, but doesn't seem like he's disappointed. Jon releases the breath he held. "I guess you want to cancel the night with us then," he says levelly.

Oh. Jon has almost forgotten about that. "I don't want to give you what I have," he says apologetically. "You're the band."

Brent puts down the amp and gives him a lopsided smile, warm and comfortable. "Not _the_ band," he says.

"I don't think that will take very long," Jon says without thinking, because the last time he'd been out in the crowd? The people coming to see Panic! were even more now. He stacks the amp on top of the other and takes a deep breath through his mouth as his nose starts to get stuffy again. "You're really popular here in England."

"But not in the States yet," Brent points out with a sigh. "We might be on the hit lists but that's not the same as breaking back home." Jon opens his mouth to retort, but Brent interrupts him before he has the chance. "Sorry, I have to go. The others are waiting."

Jon nods and he isn't disappointed, not really. "Break a leg," he offers and Brent laughs a little before heading off. Jon watches him until he disappears, then surveys the mess that is TAI's stuff. "Two amps finished, a ton of stuff to do," he mutters to himself, then heads off towards the other techs. There's a stage to set up, and until it has been, he can't crawl back into bed. Unfortunately.

***

The cold keeps its grip on Jon for the better part of a miserable week. He still has to work despite the cold, and when the coughing sets in, Jon orders Tom to stay away until he's better. No one, Jon the least of all, wants a sick band member right now, so Jon keeps to himself as much at possible and sleeps a lot. After that first day, he makes an agreement with the other techs that they carry the heavy stuff for him while he's sick and he'll do the same for them when he gets better, so it isn't all bad. It certainly helps that each day at the bus stops, Brent waits outside with a cup of hot herbal tea he hands over with a smile before heading back to his band. When the cold finally ebbs away, Jon finds himself actually missing it.

"It's nice to have someone waiting for you," Jon tells Tom as they sprawl in the back lounge, watching baseball. It feels good to have Tom back again - Jon missed him during the week of self-imposed isolation. "And the tea was great."

Tom gives him an amused look and Jon just knows there is something he isn't saying. "Whatever you say. I still hold that you have a mancrush on the guy."

Feeling uncomfortable all of the sudden, Jon blows him a raspberry. It doesn't particularly help though, so he just sighs. Maybe he does have a tiny little mancrush, but it isn't as if he's going to do anything about it. He has Cassie after all.

***

That evening, Jon watches Panic!'s set for the first time since he became sick, standing in the shadows by the stage and not sure if he want to be noticed or not, only knowing that he needs to be there. Brent notices him pretty quickly, flashing a rare smile at him, and that catches the others' attention. Spencer gives him a nod in between songs and Jon smiles back, tapping his foot to the beat as it begins anew. He's actually beginning to grow fond of the music; 'we don't care about critics' notwithstanding it's really catchy and the blend of instruments is fascinating. Far from what he usually likes, but memorable in a way that's purely them. Even if the titles are about as easy to remember as Pete's latest attempt. Jon suspects some idolization there, but he can't quite decide which one of them. Probably all.

When Panic! heads off the scene, they all head towards Jon. He blinks, not sure why they're doing that as he doesn't even know two of them, but Jon's friendly enough, so he stays where he is. Brendon grins brightly at him when he sees, nestling into Jon's side with a welcome squeeze as he reaches Jon. Jon squeezes him back and looks down at him with a raised eyebrow. Brendon ignores it, instead biting his lip and tilting his head and saying: "You're Brent's Jon Walker!" in a way that can only be described as delightedly. "And Tom's Jonny!" Brendon adds belatedly. "I remember you!" And yeah, Jon remembers him too, but doesn't have the urge to exclaim it to the world. But then again, this _is_ Panic!.

Giving up just a little, Jon smiles benignly. Brendon's eyebrow knits. "And I remember you," Jon replies, "drawing something on what I suspect was Spencer's shoes."

Brendon freezes as Spencer's head snaps towards him, face darkening. "That was you?" Spencer says, sharply, quietly. Ryan hides a smile behind his hand beside Spencer and Jon eyes the twitch of lips - seems there's someone with his kind of humor here.

Brendon shoves Jon lightly before edging behind him as if Spencer was about to attack him. "You gave me up!" he declares, peeking over Jon's shoulder at Spencer. "I shall never forgive you!"

Jon winces at the volume. "Tragic," he says and edges away ever so slightly. "I shall die out of sorrow."

"So you must," Brendon agrees, then bounces straight back into cheerful, saying something Jon ignores as he catches a strange look at Brent's face as he watches Jon and Brendon. Jon raises an eyebrow at him but Brent only flushes, only looking slightly less like he swallowed something sour.

"You've met before?" Brent asks, dipping his head far enough his hair falls into his face again. Jon really is beginning to wish he would just cut it all off so Brent can't hide behind it anymore. It seems like that's all he does while talking to Jon nowadays.

"When Brendon apparently drew hearts all over my Nikes," Spencer grumbles and glares a little more at Brendon, who's still hovering behind Jon. For a second, his eyes flicker to Jon, then they settle at Brendon again. "He was picking up his drunk friend."

"They were huddling in fear," Jon agrees, and Ryan snorts, mouth twitching into an almost-smile as Jon glances at him. Jon almost wants to tease him into talking - he thinks he would like Ryan if he got the chance. But time is running out and he's pretty sure Panic! has to be somewhere, so... "Well. However much I want to talk, I have to get TAI on stage. And I'm pretty sure you have people waiting for you in the green room."

Spencer winces and grabs Brendon. "Come on," he says, already dragging Brendon behind him towards the green room. "We're late." Ryan shakes his head but trails after them with another little look at Jon, who smiles back. Brent lingers though, eyeing Jon in that weird way again.

"It was a good show," Jon offers, clapping him on the shoulder.

A soft smile stretches Brent's lips at that and he finally reaches up to brush his hair from his face. It does wonders for his appearance, Jon absently notices. "Yeah," Brent says, tasting the word carefully in a way that reminds Jon of Bill when he's in a writing mood. "It felt good to be on stage for once." He hesitates and Jon wants to reach out, but doesn't. It's too risky. "I just..."

Jon can see the other techs waving at him, but something about Brent, something about the way he looks at Jon makes him not want to leave. "You just...?" he prompts.

Brent glances towards the stage and when he turns back, the look is gone. Jon misses it. "Never mind, you have things to do," he says and bites his lip, peers up at Jon. The hair has fallen back down into his face. "I'll see you later?"

"Sure," Jon agrees, but he can't help but feel a bit disappointed. He starts off towards the stage, then, halfway there, turns around, looking at Brent for a second. "You were good out there," he says, and the words fall off his tongue in a way that tells him really means it, even though he didn't know he would say it until he did.

Brent's face flashes with surprise, then he smiles broadly. "Thanks!" he says, then heads off towards the rest of his band while Jon goes to work. The Panic! guys really are special, in the best kind of way.

***

That night, things start changing for Panic!. No one expected it, not even Jon, even though he probably had a better clue than most with all the time he spends with the crowds, taking pictures and helping out before and after the shows. But as it is, it takes them all by surprise when one night, a gaggle of girls manages to get past security and sneak backstage. No really knows how they got into the dressing room, only the results: a shaken foursome that walks onto the stage with smiles pasted on and a less than stellar performance that echoes with the crowds until the whole night is a mess. 

Jon trades off with one of the other techs afterwards and heads over to the Panics, finding them on the bus, sitting on a couch and looking blankly at each other. He closes his eyes at the sight of it, leaning against the wall for a second; then pushes off and drags himself into a space of mind that will let him deal with this without edging them even closer to what Jon suspects is a spectacular breakdown.

"Hey," he says instead, catching their attention and smiling lopsidedly. Ryan is the first to meet his eye, smiling thinly even as his hands knit themselves together until his knuckles whiten and redden with each movement. Spencer and Brendon follow, but Brent never looks up, hidden by that veil of hair that serves as protection against the world. Jon hasn't seen it in a while and he really wishes he didn't now. "Are you all right?"

Brendon kind of cocks his head at that, tucking his legs ever so slightly closer to his chest than they were before. "I didn't know it could be like that," he says and his voice comes out in a way that sounds much closer to Ryan's way of speaking than anything else. "I mean, I've heard of groupies, but we're not..." Brendon's voice fades before he finishes, his eyes gliding away as if that will prevent him from having to face what happened.

"It happens," Jon says and walks over, sitting down carefully on the couch opposite of them, moving a mound of shirts to make place. He leans forwards, looking at them. It's hard not to recognize the looks on their faces, not to remember when he learned this lesson himself. "Pete must have talked to you."

"He didn't say it'd feel like this," Ryan says and his voice works its way out of the monotone sharply enough that Spencer starts, snapping his head around to stare at Ryan. "He didn't say that..." Then he trails off as well.

"Well it does," Jon says and then he takes a deep breath. They won't like what he's going to say, not at all and Jon really wishes he wasn't the one that has to say it. But he is, by the courtesy of being the only one on tour the Panics have really let in. "And to be blunt? Pull yourself together and deal with it."

A shudder runs through the four of them and Brent's head snaps up, his eyes wide and somehow young as he stares at Jon, the look on his face scraping against Jon's defenses until he wishes he could take it all back and let someone else say these things, force them to face reality. But there are no take backs now and he can only continue, not looking away and not permitting himself to notice the way his heart thumps and his throat feels dry.

"You're getting famous," Jon says and he knows his voice is sharper than it probably should be. "These things happen and they will happen more and more now. You can't ruin a show like you did today because a fan or three surprised you: that's not fair to the rest of them. You have to take it, break it and then move the fuck along. Sure, you'll no doubt get a minder now that things have happened and he or she will take care of most of the things for you, but there'll always be incidents. And you'll have to deal with them."

They are staring at him and Jon knows they're listening. He also knows that just like them, he can't really deal right now. He's said his piece - that will have to be enough. TAI will be along soon enough - they'll pick up the pieces - so Jon gets up and walks out, feeling their eye on his back like a burn. But sometimes... Sometimes he just can't be everything. Just sometimes.

Jon gets a text from Brent later that night and he reads it over and over again until the words spin in his mind in an impossible circle that digs deep into Jon's mind until it's burned into his memory with a strength that'll never fade. _i don't know if i should thank you or hate you_. And yeah, Jon can sympathize.

The new boy-handler arrives the next day, jet-lagged and grumpy from the flight but still smiling and willing to deal out hugs and back pats to his new protégés and friends from the scene.

"We have a Zack!" Brendon tells Jon with a broad grin on his face as they gather for unloading that afternoon, bouncing on his heels.

Jon nods and grins and pretends Brent isn't keeping his distance, that Ryan and Spencer don't seem unsure how to act around him. "Yeah," he says instead. "Zack's great." 

And he is. But Jon knows they won't forget and neither will Jon, even as things thaw as they work together with the equipment. Things like these are never forgotten, but you learn from them. And he knows the Panics will as well. 

***

Stopping at yet another refuel station the next day, the drivers announce the stop will be a little longer than usual. Apparently, there's a blizzard further along and they need to secure stuff. Jon's not sure what to think about it - he's been through his share of blizzards as a Chicago native, but he isn't sure how it will work on the road in another country. But he still knows what to expect, so he yawns a little and pulls on a reindeer shirt given to him by his grandmother along with a pair of socks before putting on shoes and heading out. If they're going to be trapped on a bus, he needs sugar and coffee, and not necessarily in that order.

It's freezing outside, much as Jon expected, but he manfully ignores it and stumbles the short distance between bus and store. A couple of techs are already in there and Jon thinks he might even see Brent. Peering into the store, Jon idly wonders how they will deal with the storm. It's possible they've never even seen snow, and to be introduced with a blizzard... Well, they're at least not likely to forget it.

Someone Jon doesn't know exits at the same time as Jon enters, so he nudges the door open with a shoulder before edging past whoever it is. The warmth inside comes as a shock after the short walk and Jon shudders violently before his body decides that this actually is better and stops. It feels so much like being home Jon feels uneasy for a moment, but then all the foreign trappings of the store poke him in the head and the feeling is gone, replaced with a vague case of the munchies.

Heading straight for the candy section, Jon nearly runs Brent over as he turns a corner and pinwheels before finding his balance again. Brent's bundled up in coat and cap and scarf and looks definitely chilly despite it, red-nosed and red-cheeked. Jon grins a little and Brent gives him the evil eye in return.

"Cold?" Jon asks mildly.

Brent glares. "Fuck you. I'm from the desert."

"Weakling," Jon tuts and shoves his hands into his pockets. He's probably right that this is Brent's first snow storm. Judging from the amount of snacks, they're intending to hibernate for the durance. "Here to fill up before the blizzard?"

Brent's face lights up a little and Jon's stomach abruptly goes from hungry purrs to strange flip-flops. "We wanted snacks," Brent says. "It's our turn to have the back lounge."

Jon fills in the 'because TAI intends to drink and Panic! isn't on top of that' at the end of that, because, yeah. Tom told him of their little agreement. "Do you really dare to feed Brendon sugar?" Jon asks. He's heard rumors of the one time Bill gave Brendon gummi bears before a show.

Brent grimaces. "It's that or let him go crazy. Besides, Spencer left strict instructions for sugar-free stuff."

Jon looks pointedly at the coke and the jelly babies Brent carries. Brent flushes and he peers at Jon with decidedly pretend innocence in his eyes. "I'm getting it last?" he tries.

"Someone's been bribed," Jon sing-songs, grinning.

Brent rolls his eyes and shoves him in the shoulder with his free hand. "Shut up." Then he looks thoughtfully at Jon for a second. "Want to ride with us today?" he offers. Jon blinks. It's been a while since that particular invitation was first issued. He'd almost thought it'd been withdrawn. "Brendon won, so we're watching Disney or fooling around with music. He hadn't decided yet when I left."

Well, it certainly sounds nicer than drinking with the techs, so making up his mind takes only a few seconds. Jon nevertheless pretends to think it over, then smirks a little. "Who can resist magic and songs?" he asks with a wink.

"Me, Ryan and Spencer," Brent says dryly with a fond eyeroll. He heads towards the register with Jon in tow. Jon snatches himself a few packages along the way, then queues up behind Brent, looking dreamily at the coffee machines behind the counter and trying to decide what to choose.

When they exit, Brent carrying the bags, Jon has two cups - one in each hand - and is grinning wildly, sipping on first one and then the other. Brent keeps glancing at him with an amused smile that looks rather fond in Jon's mind, and Jon smiles back, meeting Brent's eyes the next time he looks over with a little eyebrow waggle.

Reaching the bus, Brent kicks at the door until it opens, Ryan sticking his head out and hastily withdrawing it as he registers the cold. "Jon?" he says from the inside - it's almost like talking to the bus, Jon thinks. "I didn't know you were coming over."

"Brent invited me," Jon replies and waits as Brent climbs inside. Bus steps really aren't the place to queue up. He learned that the bad way after a series of pretty nasty falls. "He said something about Disney, and I couldn't refuse."

Ryan don't answer, but then again, he's probably withdrawn further into the warmth. Jon follows his example, toeing off his shoes as soon as he comes inside, putting the coffee down on the nearest free surface and closing the door behind him. He shivers a little, the warmth a sharp contrast to the outside, and looks up.

Brent and Ryan turn out to be the only Panic! boys in the front lounge, otherwise occupied by Bill (writing in the corner) and Mike (looking bored). Jon can hear Tom in the bunk area and guesses Butcher and Sisky are still out, taking advantage of the stop. Tom catches sight of him through the open door and shouts from the bunks: "Come to join in on the drinks?"

Ryan flinches, turning his head slightly as if that would hide the reaction. Jon eyes him a little - he can't imagine how he deals with TAI's casual attitude towards alcohol on an everyday basis. He obviously does, even if Panic! still don't seem to be drinking. Tom hasn't mentioned anything in any case, so Jon guesses they've worked something out beyond booking the back lounge. "Not tonight," Jon shouts back and grabs his drinks again. "I have a date with Walt Disney."

Bill snorts a little in his corner and looks up. "Disney?" he asks, and if Jon didn't know he's a huge fan himself, he probably would have thought it condescending. Brent seems to, judging from the sharp look he shoots Bill.

"Don't diss the magic," Jon says, winking at Bill. Brent relaxes a little at that and Bill chuckles, already half back into his writing. Maybe that album TAI's been talking about will be out soon after all. But that isn't what tonight's about. Jon looks at Brent and Ryan. "Shall we?"

That earns Jon a tiny smile from Ryan and a relieved grin from Brent before the latter leads the procession into the back lounge, where Brendon and Spencer are trying to beat each other at some game Jon doesn't recognize. Brendon looks up as they enter and fires off a huge grin as he catches sight of Jon before turning back. Spencer only raises an eyebrow before proceeding to kick Brendon's ass, but it comes off just as welcoming in Jon's mind.

Jon stretches a little before he finishes off one of his coffees and pitches it into a waste basket. Ryan slumps down in a couch, sorting through the snacks with Brent while Brendon and Spencer finish playing. Jon slides in next to Ryan, resting an elbow on the back of the couch as he watches them divide the stuff. "Save me a bag of Doritos," he requests.

Ryan pushes a bag his way and Jon rips it open, pulling out a few and shoving them inside his mouth. Brendon's hand sneaks in next to his and Jon stifles a grin, looks up. "Hungry?" he asks, winking at Brendon.

"Prudent," Brendon replies with a little nod and munches. He looks like a chipmunk. "Spencer will realize there's no sugar-free stuff any minute and I want my snacks."

"Ah," Jon nods a little and glances at Spencer. He really doubts Spencer hasn't noticed yet, but these are the games we play and all that. "Smart. Wanna share then?"

Brendon beams and promptly plops down beside him, nudging warmly against Jon's side. "Thanks!"

They end up sharing the whole bag with Spencer glaring in their direction now and then, his eyes narrowing a little every time they meet Jon's. He's not sure what that's all about, but as both Brendon and Ryan seem to like him just fine, Jon's sure it can't be too serious. So Jon and Brendon ignores him, instead arguing about what they are going to do. Brendon wants to watch the Lion King, which is _depressing_ and really shouldn't be watched on a fun night. Aladdin is a much better choice and Jon says so, but Brendon just looks at him and says he doesn't want to sing and "you can't watch Aladdin without singing!". The argument only comes to a stop when Brent flops down next to Jon, hanging over his shoulder to grab some Doritos for himself.

"Decided yet?" he asks between munches, his voice soft and warm against Jon's ear, his body a firm weight against his back. Jon leans back a little and Brent accordingly rests a little harder against him. Brent's been chatting with Ryan while Jon argued with Brendon, and Jon just knows they're Up To Something.

"Jon's stubborn," Brendon says, pouting dramatically. Jon tries to look hurt, but probably doesn't manage too well as Spencer rolls his eyes at them. "He doesn't recognize that the Lion King is not sad, but an uplifting tale about growing up."

"It's sad," Jon tells Brent, turning his head a little so he just about can see Brent's nose. "Simba's dad _dies_."

Brent leans back a little so Jon can see him smirk at him. "Wuss."

Jon waves his hand. "Whatever." He turns all the way around so he can face Brent. Brent shifts as well, ending up beside him rather than leaning on Jon. He doesn't miss Brent's warmth and weight, not at all. "What's your idea for the evening?"

Brent's eyes flickers away and he flushes. "Well, I did mention teaching you one or two of our songs."

Brendon's head snaps in their direction at that, Spencer freezing on the other side of the room. Jon bites his lip, not sure why everything has gone still. Ryan's the only one who doesn't seem completely taken by surprise, just watching Jon carefully. He guesses that answers what Ryan and Brent were talking about before.

"If the others don't mind," Jon ends up saying carefully, eyes flickering towards Ryan, because he's smiling. Spencer seems to agree with Jon on that too, because he's staring at Ryan with a flabbergasted look on his face.

Ryan cocks his head a little, looks at Jon. He can almost see something settling into place in Ryan's mind. "I don't mind," Ryan says and Jon can't read the expression on his face, half shadowed by the bangs of his hair. "We were thinking of asking you to jam with us sometime anyway."

Judging from the look on Spencer's face, that was a liberally applied 'we', but then Brendon pokes Jon in the back and Jon turns his head towards him. "Conrad's been bragging about you," he teases, waggling his eyebrows in a vaguely ridiculous way above his red glasses. "It's time to show us what you're all about."

"Yeah, defend your honor," Spencer adds, apparently on board with it now. But there's still something edgy in the way he's looking at Jon, and Jon fights off a frown. He doesn't have the right to ask abut that. At least not yet. "And don't think I didn't see you sneak those guitars in here earlier," Spencer adds with a sharp look at Brent, who doesn't look away, just meets the look evenly, one hand falling on Jon's wrist and closing around it. Spencer rolls his eyes and nods.

"Maybe," Brent allows and lets go of Jon, the little power play apparently over. Panic! really is a strange bunch. "But I didn't see you outing me either."

"True," Spencer allows and then he's suddenly looking at Jon with blue, blue eyes that seem to see straight through Jon. "What do you say?"

Jon exhales. Inhales. Then chuckles and holds up his hands. "How can I say no to that?"

Brendon heaves himself up on Jon's shoulder, leaning over his head and nearly pitching him over. The moment's lost and Jon can't help but be grateful for it. "Don't worry," Brendon says cheerfully. "We'll have you indoctrinated soon enough. I give you a week before you allow Ryan to put eyeliner on you."

"You really think he'll hold out for that long?" Brent asks with a smirk and shoves Jon in the side.

"Maybe not," Brendon allows and slumps a little. He's surprisingly heavy for being smaller than Jon. "Five days?"

"Better." Brent nods and looks at Jon with a soft smile. Jon bites his lip, smiles back. "Thanks Jon."

Jon raises an eyebrow, absently adjusting Brendon so he won't pitch himself straight over Jon's head. "For what?"

"For being here," Brent replies, then abruptly gets to his feet and stretches. Jon ignores a stab of disappointment and dislodges  Brendon, getting to his feet as well. "Well, come on. Time to get started."

For lack of room, they all end up on the floor with the acoustic basses Brent produces from somewhere along with the guitars Ryan and Brendon fetch from the bunks and the shaky-thingie they throw Spencer. Jon isn't quite sure how they ended doing this, but he can't regret it as they lead him through the music of their songs. It's fun somehow, to have Brent guide his fingers, Ryan commenting on his voice as he sings along under his breath with the parts he knows and the others playing around. It feels strange but special and Jon finds he really likes it.

The first time Jon makes it through 'we don't care about critics' without faltering, he does a little victory dance, waving his arms in the air. Brendon joins him until Ryan and Brent shove them and they all start laughing. Somehow, without Jon noticing, it almost seems like he's been adopted.

Towards the end of the evening, when Brendon has run out of energy and is slumped on the couch while Spencer sprawls across it, head in Ryan's lap and feet in Brendon's, Jon and Brent end up sitting on the floor while Jon plucks his way through the songs on guitar, the melodies firm in his mind. He doesn't really bother to follow the melody strictly and the others don't really seem to mind. Brendon hums along absently, Spencer's fingers twitching as if wanting drumsticks. Ryan and Brendon just listen and through the closed doors, Jon can barely hear the sounds of TAI fooling around over the sound of the wind outside. It almost feels like home.

When the winds starts to die down and Brendon yawns more than he talks, they call an end to the evening and Jon pads off to TAI's part of the bus, sticking his head inside and searching out Tom. "Share a bunk?" he asks with a lecherous smile.

Tom tips his head back, rolling his eyes at Jon. "Don't be stupid. Just don't hog the blankets."

"Like I ever do," Jon retorts, before retreating back and undressing. Tomorrow is the last day of the UK tour and he's anticipating a lot of work, if nothing else then to get everything where it needs to go at the airport. Jon yawns. It's definitely time to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, Jon is up bright and early with the rest of the techs, leaving the band bus while its occupants are still asleep and snoring. The lucky bastards won't have to get up for hours yet while Jon lugs around equipment to assure it follows them back to the US and doesn't end up in Mongolia or Slovenia. By the time that's all done, the equipment that is going with them in the cabin stacked by the gates, Jon is dead tired and slumped on his cabin bag, head on his knees.   
    
"Here," someone says, holding a coffee cup beneath Jon's nose, jiggling it temptingly. Jon can feel the warmth of it, the slightly spicy scent. He looks up, managing a brief smile at Brendon as he meets Brendon's eyes, looking at him kind of weirdly.    
    
"Thanks," Jon says, taking a sip on the coffee. There's hazelnut in it. Yum.   
    
"You looked tired," Brendon says and crouches down in front of him; poking him in the arm and wiggling a little to find a position that'll let him keep his balance. Jon ignores him, concentrating on getting as much caffeine into himself in an as short time as possible. Bless Brendon for getting him a large. "You're coming on the next tour too, aren't you?"   
    
Jon stifles a yawn. "Yeah. As if TAI would even make it without me."   
    
"Hey!" comes from somewhere behind him and Jon turns to smirk at Sisky.    
    
"You know it," Jon tells him, then turns back to Brendon. "Why?"   
    
"Oh, nothing," Brendon says airily, waving one hand a little. Jon takes the opportunity to sip at his coffee. Brendon's flailing can take time sometimes. "It would be nice to get to know you better, that's all."   
    
Jon nods agreeably. "I'm nice to know."   
    
Brendon blinks, laughs. "You are, actually." He's still smiling as he gets to his feet and peers across the hall before nudging Jon's foot with a toe. "You should come with me and say goodbye to us Vegas people," he says, nodding towards the group behind him somewhere. Zack probably hid them after the first fan girl spotted them an hour ago - Jon had heard the squealing. "I think we're heading off to security any minute now."                         
For a second, Jon considers whether he really wants back up on his feet, then he sighs and does. After all, Brendon did bring him coffee. "Lead the way."   
    
Zack has gathered the band in a secluded part of the airport, guarding them like little chicks, and when Zack glares at them as soon as they come within sight, Jon begins to suspect that Brendon sneaked away. Judging from the carefully blank expression on Ryan's face, he had help too. Jon holds up his hands. "Don't kill me," he says. "I was just sitting there."   
    
"Should have been over here," Zack says pointedly, which, Jon has to admit, has a certain amount of truth to it. He's been spending a lot of time with at least Brent, and it would have been kind of impolite not to see them off.   
    
"Couldn't leave without saying goodbye," Brendon says and bounces a little, looking pleadingly at Zack. They might only have had him for a few days, but they've already wrapped him around their little fingers. Jon smiles as Zack visibly wavers and sighs.   
    
"If you'd asked me, I could have given you his cell phone number," Zack says and twaps Brendon lightly on the head. "Don't do that again." He glances at Ryan. "And that goes for you too. Don't think I didn't notice you distracting me."   
    
Ryan looks down with a tiny smile and Brendon pouts as he herds Jon over to the others. Jon sidles in next to Brent, looking around for a place to discard his empty coffee mug. Spencer catches him looking and gestures towards a cleaner a couple of yards away. "No litter bins," he says. "Security risk or something."   
    
Jon nods and heads over to the cleaner, handing over the cup with thanks. Zack is looking at his watch as Jon returns, the rest of the band watching Jon. He kind of feels like he's some animal in a zoo - what are they expecting him to do? Break out in a run and flee? "Seeing something interesting?" Jon asks, and it maybe comes out a little grumpily.   
    
"Not much else to watch here," Brent points out mildly and nudges him in the shoulder as he falls in next to Brent again. And yeah, maybe he's right about that. Jon glances out the floor-to-ceiling windows. Just a hell of a lot of pavement and ugly buildings.   
    
"Security in five," Zack interrupts and looks at Jon. "So say your goodbyes."   
    
Jon rolls his eyes, because really, what does Zack think he is, five? He nevertheless hugs them all, one by one, saving Brent to last. "You have my number?" he asks as he steps away.   
    
Brent nods, the corners of his mouth turned down. Jon sympathizes - he'll miss Brent. "Yeah. I'll text you when we come in."   
    
"Do that," Jon tells him, then looks at Zack, who's watching impatiently. "Guess you have to go now."   
    
"You'll see them soon enough," Zack says dryly when Jon makes a mock sad-face. "I know you're on the payroll for Truckstops."   
    
"But anyway." Jon grins though and nods at him - he likes Zack - then turns to the others. "Safe journey," he offers and they smile back, Brent adding a squeeze of Jon's arm as he passes by. Jon watches them from there until they disappear out of sight, and then claims his baggage again. Four hours until his own flight, two until check in. Jon absently rubs his arm. Yeah, this will be a riot of fun.   
    
For the rest of the time, Jon ends up playing cards with the other techs, earning himself a decent amount of one and two-pound coins, whatever he's supposed to do with those. He could exchange them, he guesses, but doesn't really want to go through the hassle. So when check-in finally opens, Jon stuffs them into his jacket (not his pants pocket - he learned that the bad way when coming here) and forgets all about them. It's finally time to head home for a tiny little while.   
    
***   
    
They have three days off before the next tour, Jon included. He spends most of those days with Cassie, taking the time just to enjoy her company and relax. When he leaves again, it will be for an even longer time than the UK tour and they both feel it - tour can be hard on a relationship for sure, but they will do what they can to make the most of their time.   
    
The flight is, thank God, not as long as the previous time. He has been booked on the same flight as Bill, who needs to be at their starting point early for an interview. The others, Tom included, won't fly out until tomorrow. Jon doesn't particularly envy them: this way he and the other techs (and Bill) have first choice of bunks and such. Not that bottom bunks are that popular, but anyway.   
    
If someone asked Jon, he would admit that he is actually kind of looking forward to this tour, long as it is. Sure, he won't be home again for ages, but he will have Tom. And he will have Brent and the other Panic!s, who have reached second headliners this time around. Jon smiles at the thought. They have begun to get to know each other and he's definitely looking forwards to meeting them again.   
    
Bill and Jon are picked up at the airport by their tour manager, heading straight for the buses as soon as their stuff has been thrown into the trunk. Jon ends up being the one carrying it onto the bus, Bill being whisked away at once for interviews. Jon doesn't complain though; simply dumps their stuff in a bunk and stakes out his. Then he heads off to help with inventory.   
    
By the time evening comes around, Jon's dead tired but everything is ready. Shrugging deep into his jacket, he heads towards the TAI bus and hopes someone has supplied it with cold beer. Jon could certainly use one.   
    
To Jon's surprise, someone appears to be waiting for him at the bus. It isn't Bill - the lack of height and reed-thinness says that - and Jon doesn't recognize the black coat and red cap, or the slightly brownish hair sticking out from beneath it. He frowns a little and turns to approach at an angle. TAI has their share of rabid fans and he really doesn't want to run into one of them.   
    
As Jon closes in on the someone, he turns, apparently hearing Jon's steps, and Jon breaks out in a huge smile and walks faster. "Brent!" he says, running his eyes over him. Brent's cut his hair - it doesn't even reach his shoulders now - which makes it look a lot lighter. No wonder he didn't recognize him. "I almost didn't realize it was you."   
    
Brent grins a little, tugging at the cap. His eyes are dancing, meeting Jon's head on and they make him want to pull him into a hug. "It's the hair, isn't it," he says and weighs back on his heels. "I promised Mom I would cut it if she didn't freak out over the UK."   
    
Jon tells his hesitance to go to hell and tugs Brent into a rough embrace, Brent's hands going to Jon's back and holding him just as tight before letting go as Jon takes a step backwards. "Looks good," Jon tells him earnestly. "You're here early?"   
    
Brent shrugs a little and, yeah, it's good to see him again, even if it only has been three days. "Interview," he says, looking down. "I wouldn't have minded staying home for a little longer."   
    
Jon winces. Brent really doesn't seem happy - he'd thought Brent was over that, but evidently not. But then again, Jon really doesn't have any ground to stand on. He still remembers that last tour with 5o4Plan. "I know what you mean," Jon replies and his voice is quiet in remembrance. "I feel like I barely have the time to say 'hello' before it's time to leave again."   
    
"Yeah." Brent bites his lip, looks up at Jon. There's something in his eyes - a hesitance, a question that makes something in Jon respond with a yes without knowing what's being asked of him. "I'm thinking of..." He shakes his head, brows knitted. "No, forget that." Brent sighs and Jon knows he won't be asked just yet, which is probably a good thing, judging from his reaction. "Want to come over to our bus and play some cards or something?" Brent asks instead.   
    
"I'm kind of beat," Jon hedges and it's the truth. If he doesn't get to sit down soon, he'll throw a tantrum. "You could stay with me as I get something to eat though. I wouldn't mind some company."    
    
Brent hesitates for a brief second, then gestures towards the door. Jon smiles at him, and a surprising amount of the reason for that smile is relief. "Lead on."   
    
They go inside, and Jon heads straight for the fridge while Brent peels off his outer clothes and slumps down in a couch, watching as Jon rummages through the fridge contents. Bill called earlier and said he'd ordered Chinese, so Jon digs out that along with a can of Coke rather than the beer he knows Brent is still kind of uncomfortable around.   
    
"You'll be with us for the whole tour?" Brent asks as Jon starts to put things on the tale. He's at Jon through his lashes, and it almost looks like he misses having his hair to hide behind. Jon doesn't miss it though - he likes being able to see Brent's face.   
    
Jon nods, popping a piece of bamboo into his mouth, and wonders a little why Brent's asking. "Yeah, I signed on for the whole year, even though they'll let me go if something comes up."   
    
"That's good." Brent looks at Jon, eyes narrowing a little. Then he snatches a dumpling from Jon's plate, smirking as Jon mock glares. "By the way, I wanted to ask you something." He looks sideways at Jon and if he isn't about to ask something important, Jon will eat his bass. "The guys and I...we're wondering--" Brent seems to steel himself and looks straight into Jon's eyes. "It's my sister's birthday in the middle of March and I really want to be there for her - she's turning eighteen. I know you're kind of busy, but..." Brent looks frustrated and Jon takes pity on him, catching his eye and smiling.   
    
"You want to know if I can fill in," he says and Brent nods, eyes down. Why he would ever think Jon would say no, Jon doesn't have a clue.   
    
"If you want to," Brent says cautiously. "Ryan's a little... He's careful and we can't just... He trusts you."   
    
Jon's heart beats once, twice, he's mind at a stand-still. "You don't know me."   
    
"But we like you," Brent says quietly, reaching over to touch Jon's hand briefly, frozen half-way to the food. "And there's still time."   
    
Something knots inside Jon and he can't breathe. Something is changing and he can't figure out if it's good or bad. All he knows is that he can't say no. Can never say no. So he catches Brent's hand and squeezes.   
    
"Of course I'm helping," Jon says and he knows he's smiling. "You'll have to teach me the songs though."   
    
Brent smiles brilliantly and the knot inside Jon dissolves, flaring into something hot and demanding. "We will," Brent promises, then looks like he can't control himself any longer and launches himself around the table, hugging Jon tightly. It tastes of relief and desperation and Jon clings back, somehow wanting to absorb it into himself and get the Brent from the last part of the UK tour back. "Thank you," Brent mutters into Jon's neck.   
    
Jon smiles and lets his head fall to Brent's shoulder, just for a moment. "You're welcome."   
    
***   
    
Jon tells TAI about it the next day during a TAI TV meeting and the guys nods a little, Tom hitting Jon in the shoulder with a pointed smirk, but that's pretty much it. Things with Brent and the others start to change immediately though, beginning with having Jon along on every practice and sound check he's free to attend. They go through the songs one by one, playing them until Jon's fingers find the chords by themselves. He learns the lyrics, sings along whenever he hears the songs for practice and, eventually, even learns to like them for what they are.   
    
By the end of the first week, Jon knows not only 'we don't care about critics' by heart, but also the gossip song with the whore bride, which, in Jon's humble opinion, is an achievement, because it's a proverbial roller coaster to play.   
    
The others in the band seem to take his presence well too. Brendon and Brent are the ones that really talk to him, but Ryan's nice enough and Spencer isn't glaring, which is quite an improvement in Jon's opinion. He's not quite sure why Spencer went from friendly to Mr. McGlare, but he really hopes it'll reverse itself. Especially as Jon feels at home with the band and sometimes, it even feels like he's in a band again.   
    
A week or two into the tour, things start to change again. Jon hasn't really thought about it, busy with work, but eventually the change is large enough that no one can ignore it: Panic! is having a second breakthrough. There's no other way to say it. The crowds coming to see them rather than TAI are increasing exponentially and even as they do, the tension between TAI and Panic! grows. Because being buzz worthy in the UK is far from stealing the buzz at home.   
    
Jon has known Bill for a long time. He knows how much Bill's put into TAI, into every show and every song. And no matter how much he likes Panic! (Brent), the thorn in his heart digs in just a little bit deeper as Bill's face falls a little more every day, his eyes losing their sparkle even as he still gives his all during every show. It will not be enough, Jon's mind says, and somehow, despite the fact that Brent and the others are his friends, Jon pulls away, as if to compensate for the crowds that no longer see TAI but Panic!. He seeks out Tom instead of Brent, closes his eyes against the hurt and confusion in Brent's eyes before they shutter. Ignores the way his heart slowly crumbles.   
    
The second time Jon comes to practice and don't say anything not strictly needed, Brent approaches him somewhere halfway through, a hesitant look on his face. "Is there something wrong?" he asks and there's no doubt he cares, no doubt there's something between them that makes him ask.   
    
Jon shakes his head anyway, denying it, shutting down and not looking. "I'm fine."   
    
Brent stretches out a hesitant hand. Jon backs away, head still bowed, and he can almost physically feel the tentative ties between them snap as Brent's hand fall back to his side. Brent doesn't try again, and every time any of the others try to talk to him, Jon blows them off until they don't try again. And if it hurts not to let Brendon touch him, to ignore Ryan's smiles and the way Spencer's frowns were slowly disappearing, Jon completely ignores it.   
    
***   
    
It's a Tuesday when something breaks. Panic!'s show was great, the venue full with the energy of the crowd, but when Panic! enters the stage for the last encore, Spencer walks to his drum set with his hands clenched tightly enough around his sticks Jon is afraid they will break, and Brent practically stomps to his mark, face flushed and bottom lip angry red. Opposite to every other fight within the band Jon has witnessed, Ryan ignores Spencer as he passes him and instead claps Brent on the shoulder and smiles at him. Brendon walks onto the stage as if not sure where to go, hovering between the lines drawn with his brows knitted and his hands uncharacteristically still.                                
    
Jon wants to go over, ask what's wrong - everything was fine during practice! - but can't, busy with preparations for TAI's performance and knowing that they probably wouldn't want him there anyway.   
    
Bill, in contrast, is on a high tonight, singing his heart out until the public screams and the band plays harder than they have before, grinning and sweating but never stopping until the event is over. He comes off the stage beaming, plastered with sweat and eyes so bright Jon wants to beam back but can't, because he remembers Ryan's tense jaw and Brent's white knuckles, the way Brendon rushed past him on the way to the dressing room and Spencer disappeared before anyone even saw him. So Jon keeps his head down and does his work, ignoring his tight chest and the way he can't help but glance towards the dressing rooms every tenth second.   
    
When Jon gets back to the bus, Tom is waiting for him, bundled up and beer in hand. He doesn't have one for Jon and Jon glares a little at him. Tom only looks back and when Jon gets within hearing range, Tom raises his beer in a greeting. "Bill says not to be stupid," he says.   
    
Jon's heart thumps once, but he ignores it, hooking his thumbs into his jacket. "Oh?"   
    
Tom shrugs, gets up, and if Jon hadn't known Tom since he was a child, he would have thought it was just a random subject. "Anyone can see you're only hurting yourself by pulling away from the Panic! dudes," Tom says. His voice is sharp and full of undertones Jon wishes he didn't understand. "And your boy crush looks like someone kicked his puppy. Bill says to do something about it. It makes him want to cry."    
    
Jon's mouth twitches a little and he raises an eyebrow. Bill, cry? Yeah right. Tom cracks a smile. "OK, maybe not cry, but you know what I mean." He catches Jon's eye and holds it with a fond smile on his face Jon hasn't seen in a while, usually replaced by sadness and anger. "Go see them--" him "--and make up for being a total douche. We voted - you don't get in until the littlest band is happy."   
    
Jon mind's blanks for a second and then it's all he can do not to stalk away immediately. But still... TAI are his friends, he can't just...   
    
Tom punches him hard in the shoulder and Jon staggers to the side, hand flying up to clutch at his shoulder as he stares at his best friend. "Tom."   
    
Tom shakes his head and with a frustrated movement, he pitches his beer into the side of the bus. "Don't Tom me," he snaps. "It was a group decision. And Jon, you don't want me to say no. So stop dicking around." Tom shakes his head, exhales, looks at him. Jon can't breathe, the air stuck in his throat, because this is it, he can feel it. If he does this, there's no coming back and Tom is... "You're my best friend, there's no changing that," Tom finally says, and his voice is even in a way that doesn't suit him. "And these guys..." he nods towards the lounge, "they might feel angry, sad, whatever right now, but they've done this a long time. They will get over it."   
    
And somehow, those are the words that ease the weight on Jon's shoulders, lets his mind open up until he can find the words again. Speak. "Yeah," he breathes out, and then looks almost involuntarily towards Panic's bus. "You'll tell the others?"   
    
Tom snorts, the humor back in his eyes, and thumps the door hard. Someone on the other side yelps and the bus rocks as if considerable weight has suddenly been thrown against the opposite wall. "I think they already know," he says and Jon laughs. Then he turns and starts walking.   
    
Panic!'s bus has been parked on the opposite side from TAI's lately, as if the bus drivers want to do their part in keeping the bands docile. It means that Jon can't quite see it from where he is, but will soon enough as he rounds on of the trailers. It's brightly lit from within and Jon can see people moving inside, crossing the windows. No one from the band though and Jon sighs. It's just his luck if he finally gets his head out of his ass and they're not there.   
    
Jon knocks on the door. Brent told him the security code a few weeks ago, but he doesn't doubt it has been changed by now. The tech that opens it takes one look at him and points towards the nearby Starbucks. Jon nods his thanks and heads in that direction, and soon, he can see Zack in there, and where Zack is, Panic! is.   
    
The store is half-empty, only occasionally dotted with giggling fan girls, glancing at Zack every now and then as if expecting Brent and the others to pop out of the woodwork. Jon ignores them, orders himself a caramel hot chocolate and walks over to Zack. He's been watching Jon since he entered, leaning against a pillar in what can only be a deceptively relaxed manner, coffee cup in hand.   
    
"Walker," Zack says, nodding once. Jon meets his eyes - he deserves everything he gets after this whole mess. Especially as he's still not sure if he's doing the right thing. "You've done something about those divided loyalties of yours."   
    
Jon rubs the back of his neck, fights not to lower his gaze. "Tom did it for me," he admits, peering around Zack. "They're here?"   
    
Zack nods and shifts a little, tilting one shoulder towards the back. He looks neutral again and only then Jon realizes Zack had tensed up when Jon walked over. "Private booth," Zack says, then hesitates, giving Jon a judging look. Apparently he finds what he needs - Jon has no clue what, because the only thing he does is try to look normal and level despite the fact his stomach is roiling and his mind is calling him a traitor at an increasingly loud volume. He isn't even sure which band it's talking about anymore. "If you want Brent, you should wait by the restroom."   
    
Jon's eyes slip shut and he bites down on his lip. Hard. "Thanks." He forces them open again, smiles and heads off, wavering between the booth and the restrooms for a second before heading for the booth. The remaining Panic!s are seated inside, discussing something in quiet voices. Jon clears his throat, just a little, and their heads snap up. Brendon flinches as he sees Jon and Spencer's eyes narrows, the blue deepening into ice. Ryan looks at Jon, eyes sharp, before inclining his head infinitesimally.    
    
"Zack told you where Brent is?" Ryan asks and his voice is so flat Jon flinches. Before, he could hear Ryan's emotions through the monotone, hear the inflections, the way Ryan feels. Now there's nothing, a complete blank. He fights against closing his eyes again - he can't go back now.   
    
"Yeah, just dropping this off." Jon places his drink on the table, looks at them. He thought he would just go, thought Brent would be the one to make his heart clench, the one that would make him work for it. But this is reality, this is realizing that the others are walled off as well, to the point that the past months might as well never have happened. "We OK?" slips past his guarded mouth and Jon feels like hitting himself, because things are so far past OK he doesn't know where to go to find the path back.   
    
Spencer's eyes flashes and Jon sees an echo of the feeling that broke him away from the band earlier on stage. "You gonna freeze us out?" he challenges, but there's something else in his voice that sounds hurt over a lost friendship and things are just continuing to spin out of Jon's control. He clenches his hands, tries to find something to say, but there's really only one thing he can say.   
    
So he says, "No.", almost before Spencer stops talking, his tongue almost tying itself into a knot in the hurry to answer. "I've been a douche, I don't deny that."   
    
"You'd better not," Spencer says in a strangled kind of voice, as if biting back something he really wants to say but can't. This, Jon realizes, is the only thing he'll get from that corner. And Brendon has still not said a word.   
    
Jon turns his head and Brendon is huddled in on himself, looking at the table and so far away from the personable friend Jon has known he seems like a whole other person. "Brendon," Jon says and he's surprised at how much he wants to reach out, find the boy-man that bounces circles around him and teaches him to play Panic! songs on the piano.   
    
Brendon looks up, tries on a smile that doesn't fit on his face. "I'll be fine. Go make things right?"   
    
And that's it really. Jon can't stay and make Brendon face him, however much he wants to. Because there's still... There's still Brent, and not even Brendon... Jon nods, closing his mind against the silence still between him and the others and walk away. He can't do anything about that. Not right now.   
    
The restrooms lie towards the back of the store and luckily, they aren't unisex but divided into men's and ladies. Jon can hear someone washing his hands inside, which in face of the relative emptiness of the place probably means Brent. He heads inside.   
    
It is Brent, but he isn't washing his hands. Instead he's leaning on the wash basin, staring at himself in the mirror, hair hanging in his face. His shoulders are tense, tense enough they're almost shaking. He doesn't notice Jon entering and Jon falters, comes to a stop. "Brent," he says and his voice comes out in a croak, loud enough that both Jon and Brent jump, and in Brent's case, slams his hand hard against the faucet.   
    
Brent curses at length through clenched teeth, then looks up at Jon and stops so suddenly the walls echo with cut-off curses. "Jon," Brent forces out and his eyes are shuttered in a way they haven't been before. "What are you doing here?"   
    
Jon wets his lips, taking a step closer, then stops as Brent almost automatically leans back. "Someone told me I was a douche. They were right."   
    
Brent's expression doesn't change - if anything, it grows more rigid. "But why are you here?"   
    
Jon wants to tense, wants to move in and mold himself to Brent, embracing him and never letting go, but he doesn't, forcing his arms to hang loose, his feet to stand still. "You're my friend," he says instead, putting everything he can, everything he feels into his voice and it comes out shaky. "And I was a douche. I want to say I'm sorry."   
    
Brent laughs then, but it isn't a happy laugh and the tension in his shoulders is still there. "I bet you are if you had to be talked into coming here."   
    
Jon shoves down the impulse to protest, forcing himself to think, because this? This isn't the Brent he knows, not at all, and something is going on that Jon doesn't understand. "That's not what this is," he says, keeping his voice even. "Brent, you..." Jon draws for a breath, and then chokes as he recognizes the way Brent stands, the way his eyes flickers to the door behind Jon. "That's not what this is about," Jon realizes and takes a step closer, not stopping this time. Brent tenses further, but doesn't move. "There's something else."   
    
Brent's eyes flickers away from Jon. "No."   
    
"Yes," Jon insists and then he's close enough to touch but doesn't, because if he does, Brent might just fall into pieces and Jon doesn't want to be that person. Can't be that person. "Something's wrong and I wasn't there." And you can't talk to the others because they're involved. Jon chokes on his breath and for a second, he can't breathe past the lump of guilt in his throat.   
    
Brent shakes his head violently, hands clenched and head bowed; refusing to say anything, refusing to relax and let go.   
    
"Fuck," Jon says with feeling, pulling a hand over his face, suddenly wanting to hide or - he doesn't know - turn back time or something. "I really fucked this up, didn't I?" He looks past Brent's shoulder, staring at white tile and soap dispensers. His hands open and shut and Jon has never in his life wanted to hit himself as much as he wants to right now. But that won't make anything better, so he clenches his jaws and looks at Brent. "Fine. If you can't tell me."   
    
And he takes a quick step forwards and grabs Brent, pulling him into his arms without regard for either of their physical comfort. Brent resists, but then their bodies collide in an uncomfortable clash of angles, Jon's arms holding him tight and he collapses, suddenly dead weight in Jon's arms. Jon can feel him shaking, the wet warmth of his mouth through his shirt.   
    
"Yeah," Jon says to himself, hands clenched tight in Brent's shirt and face pressed against Brent's hair. "I really fucked up." But he doesn't let go and Brent doesn't step away.   
    
They stay like that for a while, until Brent finally relaxes and Jon's eyes are burning. It almost hurts to separate and for some reason, Jon doesn't want to let go. But he does and they return to the others, shuffling into the empty spots at the booth. Jon's chocolate has grown cold, but he doesn't mind much. He didn't come for the drinks.   
    
The silence in the booth remains uncomfortable for a while as the others try to read them and figure out if it's all right to talk. In the end, it's Brendon who curls out of his hunched pose and glares at Jon in a way Jon didn't know he could; it's all the more potent for it. His hands are clenched around the edge of the table, knuckles white as he leans towards Jon as if to threaten him. "Don't do that again," Brendon says voice full of edges that seems to cut into Jon like knives. "Your friends aren't assholes, so you really don't have any reason to be one."   
    
Jon sits still, not sure what do, just knowing that the wrong thing might be disastrous. Instead, it's Brent who moves, rolling his eyes and shuffling forwards in his seat. "Brendon," he says, giving Brendon a look Jon can't see.   
    
Brendon shakes his head minutely, eyes still fastened on Jon. "No," he says to Brent, and then addresses Jon. "I get why you did it," he says and seems to be forcing the words out, "but we can't help the situation and we don't want to lose you as a friend."   
    
Jon wets his lips, opening his mouth and closing it, before opening it again, trying to find the words. "I know," he says finally. "But it doesn't make it any easier." Brendon opens his mouth, but Jon plows on. "But I'm going to try this time."   
    
Brendon grimaces and crosses his arms, looking at Jon with dark eyes. "You'd better," he says, voice low.   
    
Jon looks down. He had known that Panic! doesn't have that many friends on the road and he had still cut them off. _But then again, I've always been a fuck up._  
    
Brent nudges him in the shoulder and Jon looks up, hiding partly behind his lashes. There's a smile on Brent's face, a drawn one, but a smile nonetheless and Jon straightens, looking at him. "Let's just start over," Brent says in a low voice. "You have some time tonight, right?" Jon nods. "Come over. We'll talk and we'll settle things. I want my friend back." I shouldn't have had to lose you in the first place.   
    
Jon closes his eyes, the unsaid words bouncing in his mind, then looks at Brent, looks at all of them, and agrees.   
    
***   
    
That evening is both awkward and depressing. No one knows how to act - Jon feels like a stupid fuck, Brent is still in his not-talking mood, Brendon swivels between hurt puppy-eyes and looking down at the floor, curled on the couch with his feet tucked up beneath him. Ryan and Spencer have appropriated one of the couches, Spencer tense and frowning while Ryan glares at him and rolls his eyes, but they're whispering among themselves and Jon chooses to take that as a good sign, even if it's surreal that Ryan seems to be the least affected person in the group. But at least that makes it less surprising when Ryan, after an hour of everyone staring in silence, rolls his eyes so violently Jon thinks they will pop out for a second.   
    
"For God's sake!" Ryan explodes with such force Brendon flinches, looking up for the first time in ten minutes. "So Jon avoided us for a week because we're indirectly hurting his friends. Who cares? The last time Brendon hid Spencer's shoes, they didn't speak outside of interviews for five days. And let's not even mention how Brent's been avoiding talking about something for longer than that. At least Jon had a fucking reason."   
    
Brendon flinches again when Ryan swears and Jon adds another tally in his mind towards the possibility of Brendon having a religious upbringing. Then he winces as Ryan looks at him with those sharp, sharp eyes he tends to turn upon the world when he feels it's particularly stupid and slides straight back into feeling like a stupid fuck.   
    
"You," Ryan tells him in a voice that invites no protests, "are going to spend a lot of time tomorrow talking to people." He turns to Brent. "You, are going to be one of them. Get whatever you can't tell us out of your head and tell Jon, or I'm going to strangle you, I swear to God."   
    
Brent flushes and looks sideways at Jon, but nods. Jon leans into him for a second, wanting to give him that much of an assurance. "After practice?" Brent mumbles and Jon nods. There will be time enough then, he thinks, and if there isn't, he will make some.   
    
Somehow, Ryan's little speech makes everyone breathe easier and when Brendon suggests they put in a Disney movie to watch, no one protests. They all end up snuggled together on the couch; Brendon's head on Jon's shoulder, Brent's legs resting against his and Ryan and Spencer taking up Brent's other side. Jon sinks down against them and lets himself feel like a part of this for the first time, letting himself accept the warmth and relax until he's leaning on Brent like Brendon is leaning on him. And that's how he falls asleep, curled up on a couch that really isn't meant to fit five people. He doesn't regret it, even when they wake up the next morning with stiff necks and sore bodies. Instead Jon smiles and helps Spencer make breakfast while Brent makes coffee and Ryan and Brendon lock themselves into the back for a phone interview. And it almost feels like home.   
    
***   
    
The next day brings many changes to Jon's presence on tour, courtesy of Brent, Brendon and Tom; and not necessarily in that order. It begins when Jon stumbles onto the TAI bus, yawning and stiff, to be faced with a stand-off between Mike and Tom. Tom's jaw is clenched so tight Jon winces and he hasn't seen Mike's face this rage black for months. Neither of them takes any notice of Jon, and for a second, he's tempted to back out and pretend it never happened. Their squabbles are their own and he has better to do than to play judge. But then Tom raises his fist and Jon moves forwards without thinking, putting himself between them. When Tom begins to hit things, everything inevitably gets worse.   
    
"Tom!" Jon snaps, catching Tom's eyes and holding them. "Don't."   
    
The muscles in Tom's cheek jumps as he focuses on Jon. He looks two seconds from snapping, and really, Jon wants to hit him himself but he won't, because differently from Tom he still knows better. "He," Tom says.   
    
"I don't care," Jon says, squeezing Tom's fist and pushing down, and doesn't dig his fingernails into the soft skin of his arm, no matter how much he wants to. "I don't care if it was him or you or whatever, but I know you. And if you do this, you won't be able to stop." He turns his head just far enough he can look at Mike, eyes narrowed. "And you. You know better than to wind him up like this."   
    
"He went too far," Mike replies, eyes hot, then visibly tamps down on his feelings and shakes his head. Which is good really - Mike has a much better grip on his temper than Tom when he remembers, but if he doesn't? The results can be just as spectacular as the times Tom gets loose. "I'm going out." Mike nods towards Tom, and this time, there's something different in his eyes than anger. Jon closes his eyes and wishes he didn't know what it is. "He was getting drunk."   
    
Jon had seen the six-pack, had hoped it was from yesterday. Foolish of him really. "I know." His shoulders slumped. "I'll take care of it."   
    
Mike shakes his head but still moves towards the door. "That's not it," he tells Jon. "You shouldn't have to be the one."   
    
"I know." Jon grits his teeth. He really does, but it doesn't make this easier. Or any less necessary. "Go."   
    
By the time Mike is out the door, Tom has backed away to the couch and is glaring. "I don't need you to babysit me," he says, but even in Tom's voice, Jon can hear the doubt. This has been going on far too long and it isn't doing anyone any good.    
    
"Yeah, no." Jon sighs and slumps down beside him, staring at the ceiling. And the day had begun so well too. "I really don't need this first thing in the morning, you know."   
    
Tom glances as the sick-pack. "Just one drink," he says, shaking his head, and Jon wants to cry. Because even though Tom sees some of it, other parts of it he's blind against. "He didn't have to flip."   
    
"It's been much more than just one drink lately," Jon says, the sick weight in his chest coming out in his voice as Tom snaps his head up to look at Jon. "Get a grip! I like alcohol as much as the next person, but even I know you don't go on stage drunk."   
    
Tom looks away, a sullen look on his face. "I wasn't going to."   
    
"Experience says otherwise." Jon sighs, pulling a hand over his face. He doubts Tom is listening to any of this really - what's wrong is so far beyond this Jon can't even fully imagine it. If there's a way to stop the inevitable, Jon can't find it, and now he just has to let it go. But he still tries. "Just. Just pull back a little, OK. They'll back off."   
    
Tom makes a sound and Jon decides to take it as agreement, still stiff from sleeping on a couch and wanting a few more cups of coffee before he has to work. The day began well and this isn't how he wants it to continue. So he heads back to the bunks to get a change of clothes and grab his dirty ones. Someone mentioned a Laundromat up the street and Jon's clothes are getting grungy enough that he's borrowing stuff from others.   
    
Jon didn't really expect to run into Brendon there, sitting cross-legged on one of the machines with a notebook in his hand, humming to himself as Zack looms across the room keeping an eye on the doors. When Jon enters, Zack gives him a nod that Jon returns before heading towards the machine next to Brendon.   
    
"Hi," Jon offers, setting down his IKEA-issue laundry bag with a soft thud.   
    
Brendon startles, looks up at Jon with wide eyes. For a second, his face is frozen, then a smile flashes over it and Jon finds the breath he thought he'd lost when Brendon didn't welcome him. "Jon Walker," Brendon says, nudging him with a toe. "You didn't mention a convergence in the Laundromat when you left."   
    
"This morning I didn't know I had to do laundry," Jon replies with a smile and starts to load his machine, stuffing everything not white into it.   
    
Brendon watches and tuts, nudging Jon's back. "Ever heard of sorting the clothes?"   
    
Jon glances up, then down. Looks fine to him. "Warm, white clothes. Cold, everything else," he recites. Works fine for me."   
    
Brendon shudders, leaning protectively over the clothes heap beside him consisting of blacks and red. "You must not have had laundry on your chore list as a kid."   
    
"How did you ever guess?" Jon asks with a quirk of his mouth and turns on the machine. He glances towards the toilets. Putting his hands in dirty clothes always makes him want to wash his hands. But no, it's better if he takes the opportunity to talk with Brendon.   
    
"I don't know, maybe the fact that your clothes will come out discolored?" Brendon suggests and leans back on his hands, feet kicking idly.   
    
Jon shrugs and hops up next to Brendon. "It's mostly jeans anyway." He kicks off his flip-flops and pulls his legs up, turning to Brendon. "What are you writing?"   
    
"Sheet music," Brendon replies, biting his lip and tilting the book towards Jon while watching him under lowered lashes. "Nothing in particular, just snatches that come to mind."   
    
Jon hums the stanza on the side, liking the way the music tumbles over his lips. The way it dips only to crescendo and then turn itself in a circle and begin anew. "It's pretty good," Jon says, sliding a finger down the page, hesitating before turning it and reading the rest.   
    
"Yeah?" Brendon ducks his head, smiling broadly. "I haven't showed it to anyone yet."   
    
"Thanks for showing me," Jon says and nudges him in the shoulder as he hands the book back. It feels strange to be trusted with something like this, but also oh so good, because it means he might still be forgiven. But he still can't help but hesitate before taking the bull by the horns. "I'm sorry for avoiding you."   
    
Brendon flinches and looks down. "Yeah, me too," he says, looking at the floor, and there's something aching in his voice that reminds Jon of Pete on the days the demons in his head grow stronger and can't quite be contained. "I thought we were friends."   
    
"We are," Jon says, the words falling out of him as he tries to catch Brendon's eyes, feeling breathless with want to reassure. So many broken, so few words and so many times he hasn't quite been enough. But this time he wants to. Wants to in a way that he hasn't felt since the last month of 5o4. "Just... I have known TAI for a long time. It's hard to be pulled between that and you guys."   
    
"I can imagine." Brendon's smile is bittersweet and he still doesn't look at Jon, but there's a change in there somewhere that makes Jon think he's doing all right. "I didn't have many friends before the band, you know. My family is Mormon - you might imagine what they thought about having me as a son."   
    
Jon blinks, then clenches his hands at the sudden urge to hit something as the tallies in his mind suddenly combine into a whole. Alcohol for Ryan, religion for Brendon and two things Jon has yet to find for Spencer and Brent. "I'm sure they love you anyway," he says in a careful voice, remembering times when Brendon walked away from a conversation to take a call, the times he greeted someone with backstage passes in the larger cities.   
    
"Oh, they do," Brendon replies with a little sigh that seems to slump the tension from his shoulders. "But it's hard. For a while there, we didn't speak and I don't think things have been the same since." He glances up at Jon through his lashes and the knot in Jon's chest eases as the smile on his lips is reflected in his eyes. "I'm not telling you this so you can pity me," Brendon adds, but he doesn't really seem to think Jon will, and he's damned right about that. "I just... I wanted you to know."   
    
Jon nods, edging a bit closer until he can feel Brendon warm against his shoulder, needing that bit of closeness as much as Brendon seems to. "Must've been hard," Jon says and thinks back at everyone through the years, through the scenes. So many stories, so much hurt and yet Panic's stories are among the first to truly touch him. "I can't say I've ever been through something like that, but..." He looks at Brendon, willing him to believe. "I won't abandon you guys."   
    
"Yeah, I'm getting that now," Brendon says with a smile and a nudge to Jon's shoulder, and just like that, he seems all right again. "Even though I seem to remember Tom having a lot to do with that little epiphany."   
    
Jon shakes his head and doesn't bother to hold back a chuckle. "Best friends, I guess." He looks at Brendon - he seems in a much better mood now; his shoulder less tense and his smile less pasted on and more genuine. Which is good, as a sad Brendon is a pitiful Brendon. But in either case, he really has had enough heart-to-hearts for the morning. "Want to play checkers while we wait?" Jon asks.   
    
Brendon grins, holds up his pen. "Tic-tac-toe?"   
    
They end up idling all of the laundry circuit away goofing around. When tic-tac-toe becomes boring, they play around with the music Brendon wrote and when they tire of that, the laundry is finished, so they can head back just in time for practice. When Jon slings his bass around his neck and plays along with the songs he knows, it's with the usual energetic Brendon bouncing around and Jon can't help but fool around in return. Ryan catches his eye and nods half-way through and Jon grins at him, spinning around to play to Spencer for a while until he smiles as well. Only Brent remains tense, but they are going to talk and Jon has faith they will fix things. So for now, he simply plays.


	4. Chapter 4

Brent hangs back after practice and Ryan claps him on the shoulder passing him as the last man out, leaving Brent and Jon alone. Jon returns his bass to the case while Brent watches, leaning it against the door before turning around, fingers hooked in his belt and heart beating double-time. Brent is fidgeting, lips stuck between his teeth and Jon winces as he sees the blood smeared over his lip, disappearing and reappearing as Brent worries at it.   
    
"Dude," Jon says, walking over and knocking Brent in the shoulder. It looks even worse close up and Jon's stomach makes a nauseous flip. "Stop that before you make it worse."   
    
Brent looks at him, but let his lip pop out, bruised and swollen. "Happy?" he says and tugs at the hem of his shirt. It says something about the level of stress Brent's under that he can't stop moving and Jon can't help but empathize with the way his stomach can't seem to decide on butterflies or full upheaval.   
    
"Not really," Jon tells him, then sighs and looks around for something to sit on, ending up with the drum chair. He really doesn't want to do this standing. Maybe this way, his stomach will calm down as well.   
    
Brent eyes him, remaining standing. "Won't the others need the room?"   
    
"No," Jon says, flashing back on the expression on Mike's face this morning. Jon doubts there will be any practice for TAI anytime soon. But he can't think about that right now. "We should be left alone."   
    
Brent nods and walks over to the piano, flopping down on the seat, legs dangling and shoulders hunched as he looks at Jon. Apparently, he isn't going to be the one to begin. Maybe Ryan was right in that they were all part of making this whole mess.   
    
"So," Jon says slowly, setting his feet firmly on the ground and leaning forwards, hands settled between his thighs as prop-ups. "What is that I'm too stupid to notice?"   
    
Brent doesn't say anything for a little while, worrying at his lips again. It isn't exactly calming Jon's mind about this whole fucked up affair, but there isn't really anything he can do but what he's already doing: be open and wait. Then: "It's not as bad as Ryan made it seems." The words exit Brent on an exhale, blurring together to the point Jon can barely understand him. "He's just a worrywart."   
    
"He is," Jon agrees, because Ryan really is. But it doesn't mean he's wrong. "But he's a worrywart that knows you. There's something you're not saying."   
    
Brent makes a frustrated sound, frowns a little as he searches for words that he doesn't seem to have in him. It seems familiar, feels familiar to Jon, but he can't quite put his finger on it. "It's just," Brent finally says. "I thought the homesickness would be over by now. That I would be swept up by tour and not feel like I'd rather be somewhere else."   
    
"And that worries you," Jon concludes, exhaling as he looks at Brent. He should have guessed. He really should have. "Fuck. Brent, that's pretty normal you know."   
    
Brent shakes his head almost before Jon finishes. "Not like this." He looks at Jon and his eyes are darker than Jon has ever seen them. "You should know - didn't 5o4Plan break up because some of you were tired of touring?"   
    
And sometimes Jon really wants to strangle the one who put up that damn notice. "Yes," Jon says, gritting his teeth, hard. "But really. It was more about chemistry in the end - some of us got along better than others, and ..." He shrugs, and it might be forced but it doesn't matter right now. That isn't what this is about. "You can probably figure it out. But you... You've got the rest of the band. You've got me. There's a catching net."   
    
Brent looks down and Jon hopes he hasn't said anything wrong, wishes he could just go over there and hug him or something and make everything be all right. "But it isn't the same," Brent says in a quiet voice. And there's nothing you can do about it.   
    
And yeah, Jon thinks with a lump in his throat and the itch to touch in his hands that pretty much says everything. He jumps off the chair and walks over to Brent, putting his hands on his shoulders. "Well, I can at least distract you," Jon says and tries for a happy tone that doesn't really make it. Brent seems to appreciate it though, looking up. "What do you say? Want to help me prep for the next TAI TV before sound check?"   
    
Brent leans his head back and looks at Jon. The angle seems painful, so Jon takes a step backwards. "I wouldn't be in the way?" Brent asks.   
    
"Nah." Jon grins and suddenly everything feels like it's back to normal, issues swept under carpet and vulnerability hidden behind clear eyes. "I'll use you as my own private pack mule."   
    
That startles a chuckle out of Brent and Jon grins, relieved in return that he can at least do this. "Should have guessed," Brent says with a quirky grin and bright eyes that makes Jon want to tickle him until he begs for mercy. "You only want me for my strong shoulders."   
    
"Who wouldn't?" Jon retorts and it's the truth. Brent's always been more heavyset than the rest of Panic! and Jon still remembers the ease with which he carried equipment with Jon back in the UK. He walks over to his bass, picking it up and waiting for Brent to come on over. "We'll drop this off and head out," Jon tells him as he falls in beside him. "Bill had this insane idea for this week."   
    
Brent nods and glances at him, pushing his hair back from his face until it's tucked firmly behind his ears. "What kind of idea?" he asks, and Jon actually thinks he wants to know.   
    
Jon briefs him as they walk to the buses and when they have dropped off the bass, they head out to film some background footage, Brent carrying the equipment as promised. Not that he protests - he is rather engaged in the process, asking questions and pointing out things to catch on film. He laughs and he poses and Jon laughs with him until the light starts to fade and they have to head back to the venue.    
    
"I had fun," Brent tells him as they turn into the parking lot. His face is flushed and his hair has fallen out from behind his ears, framing his face in brown tangles. "I should have followed you out before."   
    
"You're always welcome," Jon tells him as they linger by the venue door - Brent having to meet up with his band and Jon needing to return the camera. Brent flashes him another smile, then disappears inside. Jon looks after him and knows that at least for now, he's managed to cheer him up, and that makes him feel warm inside.   
    
***   
    
All in all, Jon ends up spending more time with Panic! the rest of the week than he has for quite a while now. He rides with them on their bus, fools around with Brendon as they wait for Panic! to go on, teaches Brent the basics of shooting and lets Ryan quiz him about the Chicago scene. Spencer is still silent in his presence though, eyeing Jon like he suspects him of running off with the silver, but Jon learns not to take it to heart and smile at him until Spencer smiles back in spite of himself.   
    
The tension within TAI grows though, ebbing and flooding with the favor of the crowd until Bill stops smiling as he waits to go on stage and Mike and Tom stop talking to each other to the point of using Butcher as a mediator. Jon can't stop feeling like he should do something about it, but he can't figure out what and can only watch as Mike and Tom go at each other and break up the fights that inevitably break out. Tom begins to glare at him after the fifth time Jon stops him from hitting something and Jon wants to shout at him until he remembers that Jon is his best friend and he's just trying to help, dammit. But he doesn't and Tom begins to avoid him until his absence is a constant nag in Jon's mind, painful and so undeniably there that Jon ends up punching a wall and skinning his knuckles bad enough he has to visit a medic. So when Brent gives him a look as he enters the green room with bandages around his right hand and invites him to an evening of movies and popcorn, Jon doesn't even consider saying no.   
    
When Jon arrives that night though, the bus is empty and dark and he remembers that Brent said they had an interview after the show. Jon lets himself in with the code Brent gave him weeks ago and flops down in front of the TV. He knows there's a marathon of The O.C. on one of the channels and if no one's there to complain, Jon thinks he might as well take advantage of it and snuggles down under a blanket, watching as Summer reams someone out on the screen.   
    
He wakes up later to a moving bus and his feet in someone's lap. Jon squints at them, the bus dark enough that he has to make an effort to make out Brent reading a book with one of those attachable reading lights. "What time is it?" Jon mumbles, yawning and burrowing deeper into the cushions.   
    
"Nine or so," Brent replies, putting down the book and looking at Jon with a strange look in his eyes that makes Jon's heart go thump. "You looked tired."   
    
"Long day," Jon says and yawns again, snuffling a little and burrowing his toes into Brent's side. He's warm. "I guess I'm staying here tonight."   
    
Brent shrugs and glances down for a few seconds. "The couch is all yours." He sounds kind of choked and Jon peers at him. "Or you could share a bunk with me. Your choice."   
    
Jon blinks, not quite computing for a second, then remembers. "Right, Zack sleeps with you now." And with the rest of the techs, it means a full bus and if Jon sleeps on the couch, it meant a destroyed back and a hellish tomorrow. He looks at Brent, who's looking down and chewing on his lip again. "If you don't mind," Jon says, watching him carefully.   
    
Brent had been tense, Jon realizes as he slumps at Jon's words and his hand squeezes Jon's foot through the blanket. "It's fine," Brent says, and his voice is so level Jon frowns. "I don't mind sharing. The couch will probably kill you if you try to sleep on it."   
    
Jon winces, remembering the last time he fell asleep on this couch. It hadn't been pleasant. "Yeah." He slowly heaves himself upright, body seeming twice as heavy from usual. "Mind if I go early? I'm absolutely beat."   
    
"You go," Brent says, waving his hand and letting go of Jon. He is smiling at Jon and there's something warm in the smile that causes butterflies in Jon's stomach. "I think Ryan already went to bed anyway. Something about a call in the morning."   
    
Jon nods and shuffles off, removing his shirt as he goes. From there, it's easy to tumble into sheets that smell of Brent and fall into dreamless sleep.   
    
***   
    
The next morning, Jon wakes up warm, cozy and sprawled all over Brent, face tucked into the side of his neck and Brent's hipbone digging uncomfortably into his side. Brent isn't awake, but Jon can hear the others moving around the bus even though the lack of sheer noise says the techs are already up and out. He shifts carefully off of Brent, who slits an eye open and glares at him.   
    
Jon grins a little and eases himself the rest of the way out, shivering without Brent's warmth against his skin. "Go back to sleep," he whispers and drops to the floor, wincing as he hits someone's shoes and nearly falls.   
    
Brent grumbles at him and pulls the sheets up to his nose, closing his eyes and falling asleep two seconds later. Jon watches him for a few seconds, and then rummages through the duffle in the storage compartment for his things and, more importantly, his watch. Eventually, he finds it in one of Spencer's shoes and winces as he sees the time. He pulls on his clothes and hurries towards the front of the bus, stuffing his feet into his flip-flops as he passes them.   
    
Spencer looks up as he enters, raising an eyebrow as he finishes chewing his sandwich. He has a newspaper spread in front of him and his Sidekick resting on his thigh, coffee standing at his elbow. "Slept well?" he asks.   
    
Jon eyes the food, the scents tickling his nose and his stomach rumbling a response. He checks the watch again and ignores it. "Just fine," he says and continues to the door. Ryan appears from somewhere, tucking a bagel into his hand as he reaches the door and Jon thanks him with a nod, tearing a piece off and stuffing it into his mouth as he slips outside. He hisses at the cold, toes curling as they hit the grass, then power walks towards the TAI bus while eating the rest of the bagel. Breakfast might have to wait, but if he doesn't get socks he will freeze his toes off, and Jon thinks that even his employers won't accept that excuse for not showing up for work.   
    
***

Curiously enough, it's Ryan that approaches him first about Brent. While Jon is far past thinking that Ryan is withdrawn or prone to brooding, he has learned that when Ryan speaks, there are usually well-articulated thoughts behind it. So to say it is a surprise when Ryan waits for him outside the bus one morning, bundled into a pea coat with a brilliant violet scarf, is to understate a lot.   
    
"Jon," Ryan says with a small smile as Jon hesitates on the way down the bus steps. "You have some time?"   
    
Jon blinks, but checks the time on his watch, mind spinning with questions as to why Ryan is suddenly seeking him out. He woke up intending to take pictures for an hour or two before Panic! usually wakes up.   
    
"Sure," he says, drawing out the vowel. "Something you need help with?"   
    
Ryan shakes his head, still smiling in a way that's making something in Jon's mind wake up and take notice. "Just talk."   
    
"Ah." Jon stares at him, hands fiddling with the camera around his neck. The familiarity of it draws him back to the now and he lifts it slightly, cocking his head. "Mind if I take some photos?"   
    
"No." Ryan shuffles towards him, close enough that Jon can feel his breath as he exhales. Jon tries not to stare and edges away slightly. If Ryan had been anyone else, he would have thought he was flirting but there's something off about Ryan and it's making Jon's mind scream. "Come on. There's a park a little bit away."   
    
They end up walking in that direction, Jon fiddling with his camera and glancing at Ryan, while Ryan takes in the world around him with a small smile that gives Jon the chills and makes him drop the camera twice. He never says anything, just watches as Jon tries to take at least some worthwhile pictures and smiles when Jon raises an eyebrow at him. Only when they start shuffling back towards the venue does he begin to speak.   
    
"Brent likes you," Ryan says, stopping between one step and the next and watching as Jon scrambles to keep his balance and stop his momentum all at once with quiet eyes. He seems almost frozen; not from the weather, but from some inner choice.   
    
"I like him too," Jon says when he's caught his balance, weighing his words before saying them. There's something there, in the air between them, in the subject they're broaching and Jon doesn't know what it is.   
    
Ryan's lips tenses and his eyebrows knit. "No," he says with a sharp gesture, as if Jon isn't getting it when Ryan thinks he should. "Brent likes you."   
    
For a second, Jon's mind blanks, then it reboots and shoves something at him that Jon didn't even know was there: warmth, gazes and hands touching skin. "Oh," he breathes, and his mind comes to a standstill.   
    
Ryan rolls his eyes and shakes his head, still smiling but with that off edge gone. "Pete says you're not someone to freak out," he says, holding up a hand as Jon tries to say something. "He also said he thought you weren't a hundred percent straight."   
    
"I'm not," Jon says without thinking and is rewarded with a flash of surprise on Ryan's face. His hands twitches a little - he really wants something to hold on to. He hadn't...he couldn't... "I have a girlfriend," he finally says, his hands empty-handed and open, staring at Ryan. Something inside him is till saying ''oh' in a quiet little voice he doesn't recognize.   
    
Ryan nods and cocks his head, eyes soft, and Jon thinks he knows something Jon doesn't even know himself. "Just be careful," he requests, then changes the subject so fast Jon physically reels. "Brent says you play piano and drums besides bass and guitar."   
    
For a moment, Jon can't speak. "Yeah," he gets out after a few seconds and Ryan nods.   
    
"Good," he says, then smiles and gives a little wave before ambling off, pulling his Sidekick from his pocket.   
    
Jon stares after him.   
    
***   
    
Ryan's little bombshell changes things, much as it was probably meant to. Jon has known since he was a teenager that he occasionally likes guys, but he has loved Cassie for a long time as well. But now... Suddenly he can't keep from seeing. Seeing the way Brent's fingers slide with ease over the strings, the way he smiles at Jon when they talk. The way he pulls his hair back in a ponytail when heading to bed, the way he seems to touch Jon all the time. And with that awareness comes the wondering.   
    
***   
    
That evening, Jon wanders out into the crowd for the first time in a while, one of his smaller cameras in hand and the vague inclination to capture the spirit behind the performance. It feels strange to elbow his way through fans though, not to mention that he feels lousy for taking someone's spot, so by the time he reaches first barrier, clicking a halfhearted shot every now and then, Jon shoves his pass into one of the security people's hand and ducks under the barrier, slinking away to take photos without hands and recording devices in the way.   
    
Somehow though, he finds himself taking pictures of Brent rather than the others. Of the way he rocks into his bass, the way his fingers find the chords, the way his hair grows damp and curly, clinging to his face. Then he comes back to himself and forces himself to turn the camera to Spencer only to find himself staring straight into Spencer's eyes: he has been watching Jon, a strange look on his face. Jon snaps a picture out of pure reflex then lowers the camera and stares back.   
    
What, he mouths at Spencer, narrowing his eyes. Spencer shakes his head, lips thin and something around his eyes tense and drawn. Then he closes his eyes again, too timely to be anything but a dismissal. Jon frowns and makes a mental note to look him up after the performance then returns to taking pictures.   
    
As it turns out, Spencer is the one to get a hold of Jon, showing up while Jon is still working his way backstage through security checks and barriers. His face is tense and his blue eyes are nearly all pupil in the dark of backstage. "Jon," he says, nodding towards one of the empty rooms behind Jon.   
    
There's something going on, Jon thinks, and really, there's been a lot of that going around. So he follows Spencer's direction and finds himself alone in a concrete-walled room with Spencer leaning against the door like a barrier against exiting. Jon frowns, taking a step towards him. "Spence?" he asks, shoving his camera into the thigh-pocket of his jeans.   
    
Spencer shakes his head, fixing his eyes at Jon in a way that is quite frankly unsettling. "What are you doing?" he says, voice wavering in a way that Jon doesn't like.   
    
Jon cocks his head and doesn't make a quip. There's something happening right now, and this is not the moment. "I'm not the one staring," he says, leaning back on his heels and letting his body remain relaxed.   
    
"You are," Spencer snaps, hip cocking sharply along with his voice. "You're staring at Brent." He shoves off the wall, into Jon's face and forcing him to take a step backwards if he don't want to knock foreheads. "I know Ryan talked to you," Spencer continues, "so why aren't you doing something about it."   
    
Jon stares and something inside him rears, throwing up defenses until something twists inside him and Jon glares. "And what am I supposed to do?" he says and his back straightens, his hands clench. "Fall on my knees and sing his praises?"   
    
Spencer's eyes narrow, and his shoulders square. "Don't be stupid," he says through gritted teeth. "Just tell him you like him back and do something.  You're driving me crazy."   
    
"I'm not the crazy one," Jon snaps and without thinking his fist comes up and Spencer's staring and... Jon wrenches himself back under control and forces his fist back down, swallowing tight against hot feeling in his chest. Spencer's face is blank and--God--there's actual fear in his eyes. Jon looks down, backs away, slumps down against the wall. He waits for Spencer to walk out, for the door to close and not open again. Instead he hears steps as Spencer walks over to him, sits down beside him close enough his body is a line of warmth against Jon's side.   
    
"Just go talk to him," Spencer says, and he sounds so tired Jon wants to cry. He chances a look and Spencer has buried his face in his arms hooked over his knees, his knuckles white with the strength of his grip on his arms. "You're just making both of you miserable."   
    
Jon shakes his head but doesn't say anything, just exhales and inhales, trying to find something to say and failing. Cassie, one part of his mind is whispering. Brent, the other part of his mind says. He closes his eyes and leans against Spencer. He needs to do something.   
    
***   
    
Jon gives up on denial as he walks out of that room, Spencer behind him and the sick feeling in his stomach a testament of what has been. Somewhere in between teching and fooling around, he has fallen in love with Brent and it's far from a crush that can be quenched and forgotten. So no matter how much it hurts and no matter how much it will hurt her, Jon arranges for a night off and books himself into a hotel room and calls Cassie.   
    
It's a cheap motel room with an ugly bedspread and only a coin-operated TV but Jon doesn't care, pulling the top off the bed and chucking his shoes off before sitting down, pulling his legs under himself and looking down at the phone in his hands. He thumbs the two, almost presses call, then closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Then he calls.   
    
The phone connects, ringing once, twice, thrice, then something clicks and Jon can hear Cassie breathing on the other side of the line. "Hello? Jon?" She sounds breathless, as if she had to run for the phone. Jon smiles a little - it's easy to see her flushed face in front of him, the way her hair gets frizzy when she runs, falling around her face like a halo. His fingers unclench a little and he leans back against the wall.   
    
"Cassie," he says and his voice comes out no differently than it usually does. "It's good to hear your voice."   
    
Cassie laughs a throaty chuckle that usually sends chills down Jon's back. "It's great to hear yours too. What's up on that tour of yours?"   
    
"Chaos." Jon closes his eyes, lets himself pretend. "Tom's getting worse, Panic! is overtaking TAI in album sales and everything is tense as hell. I think I'm getting an ulcer."   
    
"Sounds bad," Cassie says, her voice quiet. Jon can hear her moving through the room, sitting down on something that squeaks beneath her.   
    
"Not really." Jon bites down on his lip, thinking. "I mean, yeah, it is, but I'm not really the focus of it. It's harder on the guys."   
    
"Yeah, right," Cassie remembers, her voice going up an octave. "You're hanging with the Panic! guys a lot. How does that work out?"   
    
"A little rough at times," Jon admits, "but I think we worked it out." He takes a deep breath, tensing, then relaxing, his mind blank. He doesn't want to do this and he has to, he knows it. He loves them, he can't do this to either of them. He can't. So he steels himself. "Cassie."   
    
"Jon?" Cassie says, and he can hear the frown on her face, the sudden wariness in her voice.   
    
"There's something I need to tell you." He can't breathe, the air sticking in his throat, but he plows on anyway. "I think I'm falling in love." The silence on the other side nearly makes him take it back, but Jon hurries on. "Nothing has happened yet, but, yeah. I don't want to be unfair to either of you if something happens. So-"   
    
"You're breaking up with me." Cassie's voice is flat, hurt, a thousand things Jon can't name and he can find them all in himself.   
    
"It wouldn't be fair to you," he says and this time he can't hear any emotion in himself at all and he wonders if Cassie does. "Not when I feel like this. And it wouldn't be fair to him either." Jon waits - he has told her he is bisexual, but she has never...   
    
"Him." Something in Cassie's voice has changed and Jon blinks.   
    
"Yes, Brent," he says, the name heavy on his tongue.   
    
Cassie chuckles then, and it's utterly, utterly empty. "I saw this coming, you know?" she says, voice distant in a way that has nothing to do with miles. "When you told me you occasionally liked guys, I thought to myself: it's obvious that he loves me, so if he ever leaves me, it will be for another man. I just didn't think it would be after this long."   
    
Something inside Jon hurts at those words: hurts at hearing that she expected this all along, hurts at making it the truth. "Cassie," he says, struggling for words. "I'm sorry. I wish I could say I'd give him up for you, but..."   
    
"He's the male me, I get it." Cassie exhales and when she speaks again, Jon can hear that she's already thinking it over, changing things. "You really haven't done anything yet?"   
    
"No," Jon replies, knowing she deserves the truth. "He doesn't even know."   
    
"Oh, Jon-" Cassie's voice slips back into fondness for a second, then the distance is back. "I...I guess I should thank you for telling me."   
    
Jon's hand clenches around the phone and he has to fight not to fling it across the room. "Don't," he says, speaking through his teeth. "This is my fuck-up and if I had a choice, I wouldn't have entered this situation at all. And I'm even more of a fuck-up for not wanting to lose our friendship like this."   
    
"Jon," Cassie snaps and he flinches. "You're not a fuck-up and you're not losing our friendship. I really don't want to see you right now or even talk to you, but that doesn't mean I'm kicking the bucket on our friendship." She sighs. "Just...don't call me until you're back in Chicago." She laughs and it's breathless enough Jon knows she's close to tears. "I think I need it."   
    
"Yeah." Jon is silent, flopping down on his back and putting an arm over his eyes. "Say hello to Dylan for me?" he asks after a while, not knowing what else to say.   
    
"I will," Cassie says and the subsequent silence where I love you would have gone is a numb ache. "Bye."   
    
The connection terminates and Jon lets the hand with the phone fall. Yeah, he thinks. Definitely a fuck-up.   
    
***   
    
Waking up the next morning is a painful affair; he fell asleep with his clothes still on and plenty of knickknacks in his pockets that have dug into various places of his body overnight. Jon winces as he rolls onto a particularly sore spot and sits up, bracing himself on his knees and studying the bare room. "Fuck," he says, his voice barely audible in the quiet room, then digs out his cell phone from the covers. "Fucking hell," he adds as he sees the time and shoves off the bed, scrambling for the key and stuffing his feet into his flip-flops, slamming the door behind him as he runs for the stairs.   
    
Jon fairly flings the key at the receptionist as he passes him and nearly runs into the door rather than through it. The buses are parked two blocks from the hotel and Jon runs, breathing hard and almost choking on the cold air as he gulps in oxygen. He can't hear the buses moving out or anything really and when he rounds the last corner, there's... Nothing. "Fuck." Jon slides to a stop, nearly falling on his behind as the flip-flops loses their grip on the frosty ground, and stares at the empty parking lot. "Fuck, fuck, motherfucking fuck."   
    
He fishes his cell phone back out of his hoodie and stares at the screen, thumb hovering over the buttons, mind scrambling for someone that's usually awake. Then he pushes three and waits for Tom to pick up.   
    
"Jon?" Tom's voice is loud in the silence of the early morning, scratchy and hoarse like it usually is before his first coffee but with an added edge that makes Jon smile. "Where are you, you little fucker?"    
    
"Overslept," Jon says and exhales the air curling into a white cloud in front of him. He turns around once, peering around him. "Where are you?"   
    
Tom snorts and the edge is gone when he answers. "Well on our way to the next venue." Jon can hear him pour something, probably that coffee, and relate what Jon's saying to the others. "Bill says you could probably catch a Greyhound and make it there in time," he says after a while and Jon sighs, reaching up to scratch the back of his head and turn around again. Starbucks, grocery store, venue, lots of buildings, drycleaner. Might as well take the Starbucks.   
    
"If I knew where to find one, yeah," Jon says and heads off in that direction. It's fucking freezing, and if he has to figure out this thing, he might as well get some coffee while doing it. "Bill didn't happen to mention where to find the bus station?"   
    
Tom slips away again and Jon takes the opportunity to yawn and stretch a little, only to curl in on himself as the hoodie rides up to expose his stomach. "Sorry," Tom says as he returns, the others still mumbling in the background. "The Panic! dudes might know though - Sisky says one of them mentioned being in whatever before."   
    
Edging the door to Starbucks open, nearly losing a flip-flop to the threshold, Jon nods to himself. "Which one?"   
    
"Urie," Tom replies and yawns so that the next words slur. "Want me to call?"   
    
"Nah." Jon walks up to the counter. "I'll do it. See you later hopefully." He motions for a scone - they had always been his favorite when he worked there - and a double shot espresso.   
    
"Yeah," Tom says in the background. "Don't get lost." Then he disconnects and Jon smiles at the barista as he pays before picking up his breakfast. She nods with a smile, yawning behind her hand, and Jon heads off to a corner table, putting down his food before pulling up his cell phone again and sitting down.   
    
It takes a few seconds to find Brendon's number - for some reason, it's saved under Bden and Jon suspects Brent - and when he finally calls, it takes half of his coffee before Brendon answers, slurring a little on the words. No one had told them then. "Jon?" Brendon mumbles, something rustling in the background. "Why're you calling so early?"   
    
Jon finishes chewing his scone and looks out the window. There's silence behind Brendon - they're probably all asleep then. "Need some help," he says and Brendon rustles some more, yawning loudly. "I got left behind at the last stop and Tom says you know where to find the bus station."   
    
"Yeah," Brendon mumbles, the words coming out slower as if he's already falling back asleep. "It's just off of..." He grows silent, and for a moment Jon thinks he's fallen asleep. Then there's a sharp thunk on the other side and the cell phone bangs into something before Brendon's back on the line. "You got left behind?" he says and Jon winces at the volume. Someone says something to him, but Brendon shushes whomever and rustles some more, probably sitting up in bed.   
    
"At the last stop," Jon repeats, leaning back in his chair. "And I need to find the bus station."   
    
"Dude," Brendon says and Jon can hear his raised eyebrows over the phone, "how did you manage that? Zack dragged us up at six."   
    
"Some of us don't have a babysitter," Jon says and takes the opportunity to finish off his scone as Brendon recounts whatever to the others before talking to Jon again. "The bus station is just off the main street, towards the fair we saw," Brendon says. "Remember?"   
    
Jon thinks back - Brendon had been telling Jon he wanted to take some time off to go there if possible, but then had silenced quickly as he spotted the church just behind it, eyes going dark until Jon tickled him into laughter. "Yeah," he says, biting his lip. "There's a church nearby I think."   
    
"That's the one." Brendon hesitates and Jon hears Brent saying something in the background. "Are you going to make it in time for practice?" Brendon asks, parroting something one of the others said. Jon thinks it's probably Ryan.   
    
"I hope so." Jon calculates what he remembers about the distance between this and the next stop. "Probably, as long as I find a bus."   
    
Brendon hums and relates this to the others. "Brent says he'll meet you at the station," he says a bit later. "Zack apparently owes him a favor."   
    
And Zack is also a big woobie, Jon adds mentally, and probably knows everything that had gone on the last few months. He swallows against the sudden lump in his throat and ignores the way his brain suddenly goes Brent! at him, followed by a subdued Cassie!. "Must be some favor," he says, but it doesn't really come out very well.   
    
"Yeah." Brendon sounds subdued as well, probably picking up on Jon's mood. He's good at that, Jon has noticed. "Anyway, I guess I have to let you get going."   
    
Jon looks down - his scone is reduced to a pile of crumbles and the only thing left in his cup is dredges. He lifts it to his mouth anyway, pouring the bitter remains into his mouth. "Probably," he says when he has swallowed and this time it doesn't come out as anything in particular. "See you when I arrive."   
    
Brendon mumbles something vaguely luck-wishing and Jon disconnects the call, staring into the air. He'd broken up with Cassie last night, and in the rush of the morning he'd almost forgotten. And what that means, Jon doesn't have a clue, but he thinks he will when he meets up with Brent again. He gets to his feet. It might be a good idea to get going.   
    
***   
    
Jon ends up reaching the next stop with an hour to spare, stumbling off the bus with his iPod stuffed haphazardly in a hoodie pocket and cell phone in hand. The sudden change in volume is shocking - the bus was full of school kids for some reason or another and Jon had wanted to kill someone about five minutes into the ride, head throbbing and seat shaking as the kid behind him kicked it. Considering that it wouldn't have gone over well with the rest of the world, Jon had put in his earphones and turned the music up high, letting the mix Tom had given him for his birthday last year take him away.   
    
It's just as cold outside here as it was at the last place and Jon finds himself wishing for a pair of shoes instead of his flip-flops. He isn't dressed for doing anything but walking between bus and motel and his body protests by shivering violently, his toes curling in on themselves as he hides his hands in the sleeves of his hoodie and looks around the station. Jon isn't sure he will actually find Brent waiting so when he finds Zack instead, his large figure standing out among the people huddled under the roof across the lot, Jon only smiles and heads off in that direction, shoulders hunched.   
    
He can see the moment Zack catches sight of him, because that's the moment Zack straightens up, grasping after someone and failing as Brent suddenly appears and half-jogs over to Jon, grinning wildly and looking warm and cozy in a padded jacket and a cap pulled down over unruly hair that sticks out in loose curls. Jon's stomach drops and he thinks _oh_, reaching out to touch Brent's arm thoughtlessly.   
    
"Overslept?" Brent says, looking at Jon through his lashes and leaning into his touch, smiling.   
    
Jon rubs the back of his neck and can't help but sneak glance after glance at Brent as they walk towards Zack. "Happens the best of us?" he offers and tries not to sound choked with the way he wants to touch Brent, pull him into his arms and not let go. "I fell asleep after calling Cassie and forgot to activate the alarm."   
    
Brent's face falls a little and Jon can't help but throw an arm around his shoulder, pulling him in for a quick hug that returns the smile to Brent's face if not his eyes. "Must have been some phone call," Brent says, his voice even.   
    
Jon's stomach knots a little at that and for a second he feel nauseated by the thought of what Brent must think, by the thought of what actually happened; but then Zack catches up to them and nods, throwing a glance over his shoulder. "Walker," he says and eyes the crowd again; shifting so he walks in between them and the crowd. "Mind if we make this quick? I think the girls recognize you."   
    
Jon glances involuntarily into the crowd's direction and, more specifically, the gaggle of girls to the left. They are whispering among themselves, giggling and looking in their direction. "Yeah," he says, speeding up a little. "Did they recognize Brent...?"   
    
Zack doesn't answer, busy looking at the girls, but Brent tugs at his cap. "The wonders of hats," he says with a little smile and for a moment Jon loses his breath. Then Brent smirks and the moment is gone. "I think it's you they recognize actually."   
    
Jon blinks and falters, his back suddenly itching. "Me...?"   
    
Zack puts a hand on his back, shoving him back up to speed before he slows down too much. "You're starting get famous on the net," Zack says and suddenly the looks he's been giving Jon lately is much more clear. "Everyone on tour knows JWalk and with your pictures getting popular on Flickr, there are rumors about the mysterious photographer hanging with Panic! and TAI." He is silent for a second and Jon looks back at Zack, immediately wishing he hadn't. "Last I heard," Zack says and looks Jon straight in the eye, "they were putting together the shots you do, the shots you're in and your name."   
    
Jon's stomach vaults and he nearly stumbles again, jerking upright when Zack gets a hand under his arm. He has been putting pictures on net ever since Christmas, never really thinking twice of posting candids of the bands even when they started to get noticeably famous. Jon had noticed the increasing hits and comments of course, but he hadn't really read them. But still, he can see being interesting in the candids, but him?   
    
"Why would they be interested in me?" Jon blurts out and he wobbles as if his body tries to mirror his mind.   
    
Brent grabs him by the hand and for a second Jon's thankful for the support, then the girls' squeal behind him and Jon speeds up until he's fairly dragging Brent behind him before Brent lengthens his steps in response, falling in beside him. "You're in a bunch of pictures with us," Brent says, panting a little, and nudges Jon towards the parking lot. "They were bound to get curious. Not to mention that fans have a tendency to pick up on everything, especially the stuff you don't really want them to know." He glances at Jon and there's something hot in his eyes that makes Jon stumble just a little. "It doesn't hurt you're good-looking either."   
    
Jon flushes and doesn't reply, even though he can see Brent smirking beside him. Instead he looks ahead to see if he can spot the car, deciding that the tiny thing with the rusty exterior and yellow dice in the front window seems likely. Zack proves him right when he strides past them and unlocks the car, shoving them into the backseat before folding himself into the driver's seat. Jon and Brent fit themselves to a side each of the car, resting their legs parallel to each other on the space between, leaning against the windows. It's really a tiny car.    
    
Zack pulls out and Jon takes a last look out the window, looking away hastily as he catches a pair of girls aiming at the car with their cell phones. Taking photos is fine, being in one? Not so much. Brent is looking at him as Jon turns back, corners of his mouth downturned and his face thoughtful.   
    
"It really bothers you, doesn't it," Brent says, drawing out on the words as if tasting them.   
    
Jon shrugs a little and fidgets. "A bit," he says. "It just feels like I have nothing to do with it. I'm a photographer and a tech; I'm not supposed to be famous."   
    
Brent's lips twitch into a grin and he hastily ducks to cover it, hand covering his mouth. Jon can't help but fish out his cell phone and snap a picture of him like that, happy and bathing in sunshine.   
    
"That's not really going to help with the issue," Brent points out, having looked up as Jon's camera clicked. He's still smiling as Jon uploads the picture. "The famous photographer JWalk in a car with his feet in the bassist Brent Wilson's lap. I can hear the squeals of slashiness from all the way over here."   
    
Jon is watching the upload indicator, but looks up at that, blinking. "Slashiness?"   
    
Zack makes a choked sound and Jon looks over, catching his eyes in the mirror. He's bright red in the face and Jon isn't sure if he's blushing or holding back laughter. "Don't ask," Zack advises and, well, now Jon's curious. His thumb twitches to the Wikipedia search almost all by itself.   
    
Brent leans forwards, catching his wrist and halting the movement. "Listen to Zack," he says and bites his lip. "I thought Ryan was going to have an aneurysm the first time he found out about it."   
    
And Ryan doesn't panic that easily in Jon's experience. He eyes the Wikipedia search bar. "That doesn't sound good."   
    
Brent leans back again and shrugs, slumping against the window and still smiling at Jon. "Depends on who you are, I guess," he says. "I'm not too bothered, but I'm not that involved either." That hot thing flashes through his eyes again and Jon's breathe hitches. "I bet it will change now though," he adds and nudges Jon in the side with his foot, smirking.   
    
Zack clears his throat in the driver's seat and Jon looks that way. Zack's staring at the road in front of him with singular attention and there's something strange with that Jon can't quite pinpoint. "Walker," Zack says, voice holding that same strange quality. "Brent's right about things changing - it's very possible that some of the girls will recognize you and connect you to the band. You might want to think about not walking around alone so much; while I don't think the girls will do anything but ask you to have things signed, there's always exceptions."     
    
Jon flinches and remembers the crowds that are always around Panic!, the screaming and shoving. All of which he embraced and loved when he was in a band, but as a tech? "It's that bad?" he asks.   
    
Zack shakes his head and Jon can feel Brent watching him. "Not really," Zack says. "But it would still be better if you keep to the bands so I can keep an eye on you along with the boys."   
    
And doesn't that leave a sour feeling in his stomach. Jon looks down, fiddling with his phone without really doing something. Brent edges his legs closer to Jon's, as if trying to offer what comfort he can. Everything seems to be coming at once, he thinks to himself and he isn't sure what to do about it or even if there's any meaning to even doing something. But one thing is clear: he'll have to start paying more attention.   
    
They arrive to the venue soon after that and Zack brings them to a backdoor and further to the practice room without any stops. Ryan, Brendon and Spencer are already there, talking amongst themselves and watching the door. Jon smiles at them as they greet him and the heavy feeling in his chest slowly dissipates. Friends and music; the things that makes Jon's world go round.   
    
***   
    
Panic's show is awesome that night - or at least that is what people tell Jon afterwards. When Panic! is playing, Jon is being reamed out by Bill and Tom about the stupidity of letting himself be left behind. They still had the time Sisky missed the bus in the middle of nowhere fresh in mind, no cell phone and no memory of any phone numbers. By the time they'd managed to figure out where Sisky was, they had played telephone tag throughout half the tour and Sisky's family, and when Sisky finally got back on the bus, he was shivering and red-eyed and a whole lot of ashamed. After that, Butcher had sat down with him and forced him to memorize everyone's numbers. Jon had his cell phone with him, but that still didn't mean the band hadn't been worried.   
    
"And if you ever do that again..." Bill says and glares with his hands on his sharp hips. He actually looks threatening and with Tom standing behind him with thin lips and eyes that promise a hell of a lot of screaming later, Jon takes him at his word.   
    
"I won't," he promises and sighs, making sad puppy-eyes at Bill. "It wasn't that fun from my side either."   
    
"I'll bet," Bill says, but he can't really hold on to his anger and Tom snags Jon away to the back lounge for some screaming of his own.   
    
All in all, Jon is surprised by how many seem to have been worried when he didn't show up in time. But towards the end of the evening, he is also getting tired of the threats and scolding and feeling more and more like people think he's five and not twenty. But eventually people forget and the tour gets back to business.    
    
Jon takes a morning to check up on his Flickr and realizes that Brent had been right and very possibly understating the situation. When Jon sees the amount of followers he has and starts reading the comments, quickly realizes that, yeah, this really wasn't what he intended when he set up the account. But he don't really want to take down the pictures either, so in the end, Jon decides to leave them public and settle for making new ones private or friends only. A pity, as he likes sharing, but some things were meant to be kept among friends. When people on tour or in his family approach him about being added so they can see the pictures, Jon agrees of course, but he finds that he prefers to know who they are.   
    
***

The weekend for Brent's trip home comes soon after that and Jon can't help but feel sad as he and the others drop him off at the airport. Brent hugs him before leaving and Jon takes the opportunity to hold him back, for once letting himself lean in to him and just be. He hasn't really done anything since he talked to Cassie and isn't really intending to. If something happens, he wants it to be natural and not because of a forced situation.   
    
Hanging his bass over his neck that evening and stepping out on the stage with the others, feels like coming home. It feels natural, enough to keep the butterflies in Jon's stomach away, even when a sizable number of fans  already know his name and relish in screaming it as Brendon introduces him. There's nothing strange about standing on the stage with Ryan and Brendon, feeling Spencer's beat at his back. The only strange part is Brent's absence and Jon can feel the lack of him as a dull pain throughout the performance.   
    
But everything ends and when they walk off the stage, Jon feels disgusting, covered in sweat and panting like he has run a marathon. He also can't stop smiling, beaming at his fellow techs, waving at the public and patting Zack on the shoulder as he passes him by; and when Brendon flings himself into Jon's arms as he comes off the stage, Jon catches him and spins him around before putting him down.   
    
"Jon Walker!" Brendon exclaims belatedly and his grin is so large it nearly swallows his face. "You're awesome!"     
    
"I'm always awesome," Jon replies and laughs, accepting Ryan's quick hug and Spencer's nod, all his usual curtness with Jon gone to be replaced with the brightest of grins.   
    
"You are," Brendon agrees and flails off towards the green room, speeding up as he goes. "First shower," he calls and the sound bounces back at them as he turns a corner.   
    
Jon chuckles and takes off after him after a glance at Ryan and Spencer. "Second!" he calls back and runs, letting the air slapping against him cool him down and settle his mind until he's beaming but no longer tired.   
    
It feels even better though, as Brent returns the next day, loose-limbed and smiling and actually laughing when Brendon hugs him, looking at Jon with something soft in his eyes over Brendon's shoulder.   
    
"Saw you on YouTube," Brent says and ambles over to Jon, touching Jon's arm lightly and smiling. "The fans love you."   
    
Jon laughs and tugs him into a hug, nearly lifting him off the ground. "They love you more," he tells Brent and lets himself hold him for another second before letting go. Brent seems as unwilling to let go as Jon, his hands trailing off of Jon's shoulders as if wanting to stay forever. "But thanks for giving me a try."   
    
They're still smiling stupidly at each other when Ryan nudges Jon in the side, smiling one of his small, patented Ryan-smiles. "Don't think this lets you out of practice," he says with a little smirk. "I'm just beginning to make something decent out of you."   
    
"Wouldn't dream of it," Jon promises and hooks one arm around each of their shoulders, stretching a little to reach their height and watching the setting sun through the windows as they walk towards the exit. This really is life.


	5. Chapter 5

Life goes on and the only difference is that Jon spends more time with Panic! than he had before outside of practice. He's always welcome on their bus and the tension between Tom and the rest of TAI is reaching levels that makes it unpleasant to share space with them. Nothing anyone says seems to reach Tom and Jon has no more clue than anyone else as to why he has begun such a downward spiral. He can only hope something will shake him out of it before it's too late.   
    
Things are beginning to change for Jon as well, and it's beginning to become apparent that the initial interest in the mysterious photograph guy only was the tip of an iceberg. Somewhere in the middle of an intensive stretch of gigs, Jon receives a phone call through Panic's management (and a smirk-y little text from Pete, but that one Jon ignored) that a large magazine is interested in picking up some of his candids for a Panic!-centered issue. It creeps Jon the fuck out, even if some small part of his mind makes somersaults at the thought of his photos being of good enough quality for a major magazine. It feels like he is riding on Panic!'s celebrity status but in the end he nevertheless agrees for them to publish some and then avoids the magazine until he knows the issue has both come and gone. The guys doesn't really understand why he's balking at the thought of seeing his pictures and save a few issues for posterity; taking delight in showing them around.   
    
"I really don't get why you're not proud," Spencer says one afternoon over coffee, staring at Jon with something slightly worried in the twist of his mouth. Which he quite frankly deserved - Jon had caught him talking with his mom just a little earlier, conspiring to send her a copy. Jon might have freaked out a little, but really. "They're your pictures," Spencer continues and his eyes flicker towards a picture Jon took and gave them framed as a present when they sold platinum (informed so by a gleeful text from Pete that actually made Jon smile). "And it's a large magazine."   
    
Jon shakes his head, pulling his feet up beneath him. "It's more you than me," he says, and from the look Spencer gives him, Jon think he might sound a little subdued. "Anyone could have taken those pictures and they would have been wanted." He looks down and he knows the smile tugging on his lips is far from genuine. "You're getting big, Spence.".    
    
Spencer sighs and looks down at the table, his hand squeezing the mug until his knuckles go white. "I'm not a professional photographer, so I can't tell you you're wrong," he says softly, "but really Jon. You studied this, so I'm pretty sure you're better than you think."   
    
"Maybe." Jon sips on his coffee and looks at the framed picture. Decent, his mind says. Not good. Then Jon wrenches his thoughts away. This isn't something he needs to be thinking about.   
    
The second change comes when they are interviewed for some teenie magazine - Brent says afterwards that they mostly actually answered out of surprise. The interviewer apparently smirked a little and said that a certain JWalk was building a small following among the teenage girls and wondered who he was and what they thought about him becoming famous along with Panic!.   
    
That had apparently made Ryan snap and suddenly there is an article out there with a mini-feature on Jon that says he's their best friend, an awesome photographer and someone who helps them write songs and plan performances, a large photo taken on his one stage performance splashed beside it. JWalk - the fifth Panic!? the article says and when Jon sees it, he goes straight to his bunk and don't come out until he has to. This really isn't what he signed up for.   
    
Jon doesn't get to be angry for very long though - Ryan catches him after their performance and asks for forgiveness with such a pitiful look on his face that Jon can't say no. So the only thing left to do is to hug him and deal with it, hoping it will be over when the tour is so everything will go back to normal. Because the last time he tried to take photos in the crowd he'd been recognized and Zack had been forced to fish him out. And if that doesn't put a damper on things Jon doesn't know what will. The only reason he hasn't been put on the babysitter list is that he's agreed to keep things down.   
    
The third change comes with a week and a half left of the tour and this one, Jon has been waiting for. But it doesn't turn out the way he hopes. Nothing seems to do that anymore.   
    
Brent and Jon have been spending the evening on the TAI bus, playing video games and talking as they have done so many times before. The only thing that feels different is that soon they are going to part and while Jon doesn't know how Brent feels, he knows that every time he thinks of not being able to talk with Brent every day, be with him every day, his heart hurts and he wants to hit something. By the time Brent gets up to head back to his own bus, Jon is waiting. For what, he doesn't know - there's just anticipation in the air and he just knows something is about to happen.   
    
Brent hesitates in the door, looking back at Jon. The light of the setting sun becomes a halo around him in the doorway, a strange contrast to the stripy hair and week-old t-shirt. His face rests in shadow and for once Jon can't see the expression on his face. He shifts in his seat, that something weighing heavy between them.   
    
"Jon," Brent says, voice a bare whisper. There's a question in his voice along with that warmth that makes Jon's heart skip a beat. "I..."   
    
Then Brent shifts and the light hits his face briefly, illuminating the way he's biting his lip again and the heaviness lifts and Jon knows.   
    
"Brent," Jon says, and then he's off the couch and by his side, hand raised and hovering over his cheek. "You..."   
    
Brent cuts him off before he can say anything more, leaning in and catching Jon's lips with his own, taking a step to the side and turning Jon into the wall with the movement of his body. His lips are warm and wet against Jon's, resting there without demand or question - a mere presence - until Jon's hands rise to his face, over his cheek and into his hair, tugging Brent towards him as he opens up, tugging that lip between his own teeth for a second before Brent grabs him by the shirt, hauling him close and then Jon isn't in control anymore.   
    
Brent ravages Jon's mouth in a way Jon didn't think he knew, and for all his superior age and experience Jon can only hold on as his knees give in and his hands shake as they grab for Brent's hair, his shirt, anything to hold on to. There's nothing but Brent's mouth (soft, wet, sweet) and Brent's hands (digging, holding, claiming) and then...   
    
Then it's gone. Brent rips himself away, resting his forehead against Jon's shoulder, hands digging into Jon's sides while Jon's are still clenched in the back of his shirt. Jon pants and everything seems harsh, new, different. "Brent," he says again, as if he can't help it, and holds on.   
    
"Jon," Brent replies, his voice muffled in Jon's shoulder. Then he pushes back and puts some distance between them. Without thinking, Jon reaches up to touch his face, pale and tense and eyes almost all pupil. "Fuck." Brent pulls away until Jon can't reach him anymore and Jon blinks, pulled out of the moment enough that he's aware he's straining against his jeans and slumped against the wall as if his knees might give in any second. Jon thinks they might very do just that.   
    
"I'm sorry," Brent says and he's not looking at Jon, studying the carpet. His hands are clenched by his side and he's moving backwards, away from Jon. "I..."   
    
Jon flinches and bites his lip. They feel strange the way newly-kissed lips do, swollen and sensitive. "Don't be," he says but it comes out weaker than intended and makes Brent flinch in return. "I'm not sorry," he tells Brent, and this time it comes out much more sure. "I wanted this. Still want it."   
    
Brent looks up, eyes wide and for a second Jon think Brent will kiss him again, but then they narrow and the tenseness is back in Brent's shoulders. "Cassie," Brent says in a tone that's supposed to be forbidding, Jon thinks. "God, Jon." Brent's voice breaks a little and he wrenches his eyes away from Jon, staring out the door. "You love her."   
    
Jon doesn't flinch, doesn't look away and for the first time, his heart doesn't ache when he hears her name. "I broke up with her a few weeks ago. I can't stay with her when I'm in love with someone else."   
    
Brent's head snaps up, and for a few seconds they only look at each other. Then Brent looks down, away, with a choked sound. "I can't do this," he says, barely audible and heartbreak in his voice and Jon knows. When Brent walks away, down the steps and out the door, taking the sunshine with him as the door zips shut, Jon has already closed his eyes, the thumping of his heart painful in the sudden dim light.   
    
I can't do this.   
    
***   
    
The next two days of tour pass in a haze of heartache, numbness and plain yearning dashed with regret. Brent avoids Jon and the rest of Panic! watches them both with worried eyes but never really say anything. Jon can't find it in himself to blame them - they try to divide their time equally between Brent and Jon, but it's hard when Brent refuses to be in the same place as Jon, and Jon in deference avoids all those places he knows Brent needs to be as part of the band. It makes it a little easier too, Jon thinks, as he doesn't have to see the way Brendon doesn't bounce anymore, the way Spencer watches his every movement, the way Ryan just sits with him as if his presence is supposed to help him. So instead, Jon spends time with Tom and it seems to help Tom too as his best friend instincts kick in, which in turn helps TAI deal with their issues. A good thing, Jon guesses. It's just hard to care for the moment.   
    
But eventually, the thoughts start to sneak in - or maybe it's the rational parts of Jon's mind, the ones that haven't been completely taken over by the ragged shards lining Jon's heart - why can't Brent do this, why can't they... It doesn't make sense, not at all. Because Jon's pretty sure Brent's bisexual or gay - no one kisses like that without knowing what they're doing - and it's not like they're not friends, like Jon isn't friends with the rest of the band, like the others would freak out at the thought of two guys kissing. And yeah, they would have to be discreet, but this is... Jon wants it. Wants it more than he has wanted anything in a good while and yeah, he's going after it.   
    
***   
    
It's evening when Jon finally catches up with Brent, managing only after a bizarre hide and seek through the backstage corridors and buses. Brent has found a tiny nook to the side of the stage that Jon only knows about because Spencer visibly grits his teeth and practically marches Jon over the third time Jon just barely misses Brent on the bus. Brent doesn't notice him as he closes in, head bowed over a notebook, scribbling at something with a pen nibbled down to a stump and Jon's heart thumps as he hesitates in the doorway. There are lines between Brent's eyebrows, a thinness to his mouth that says this isn't easy for him, and the reasons for his withdrawal seem even less clear.   
    
"Brent." Jon barely realizes he's spoken before Brent's head ducks even lower, his eyes hidden behind the strands of brown hair falling to cover his face. His hands have stilled and Jon's crooks a little in response, blunt nails digging into his thighs. "I..."   
    
Brent shakes his head, once, sharply, doesn't look up. "No," he says, and Jon wishes he could read something in that voice, could hear something beyond the pounding in his ears. "No."   
    
And that's... There's something in that word, in how it's said. Jon takes a step forwards, reaching out.   
    
There is something going on, something he doesn't understand. If he just can... "There's..." he begins, but Brent's head snap up and there's something wild in his eyes, something beyond tense in his shoulder.   
    
"Jon," he says, and suddenly Jon can't say another word, frozen mid-gesture, as if hit by a spell. Brent doesn't have the same problem though, getting up, meeting Jon halfway. Meeting his eyes. "I want to. But it wouldn't be fair, it wouldn't." Brent shakes his head and reaches up, fingers just barely skimming Jon's chin before falling away as he squares his shoulder. Jon's skin burns where he touched him, as if marked forever by the fleeting brush. "I know you don't understand, but I can't just. Not now."   
    
"But when?" Jon's heart is thumping so heart it seems to echo in the stillness of the room, in the blank surface of Brent's eyes as they meet his. It feels like he will faint, like he will explode, like he's nothing, like he's all. And it all centers on Brent.   
    
"Probably..." Brent cuts himself off, then looks away. When he looks back, his face is calm again. The wrinkles are gone, his mouth is relaxed. If it wasn't for the way his hand shakes a little as it touches Jon's arm, Jon would have thought him completely calm. "Not now," he says, and the silence afterwards says everything, every touch and look suddenly erased until there's only a vacuum between them. When Brent turns to leave, Jon doesn't stop him.   
    
***   
    
Brendon shows up on TAI's bus before they leave that evening, professing that he wants to spend some time with Jon before everything turn hectic towards the end of the tour. He doesn't seem to have anything firmly in mind though, and they end up settling in the front of the bus fooling around with one of the video games while TAI withdraws to the back lounge. Jon knows they're giving him space, doesn't know if he really deserves it after the damper he's put on everyone's moods since things got turned on their ends.   
    
They're in the middle of a boring stretch of running when Brendon speaks up, eyes staring at the screen while his hands still, and Jon gives up the pretense of playing, letting his head thump back against the couch cushions. He's been waiting for this, kind of, the intervention, the... Jon doesn't know, the assurance he's still their friend or something like that. But that isn't what comes out of Brendon's mouth.   
    
"I heard Ryan and Brent talking and... Jon, I don't think Brent wanted to break your heart."   
    
And. Yeah, not expected, not wanted. Jon closes his eyes, exhaling quietly, carefully. "I'm sure he didn't," he says and even he can hear the flatness in his voice. He tries to remove it as he continues, think he maybe manages but isn't sure. "I guess some things just aren't meant to be."   
    
Brendon's controller thumps to the floor and Jon can hear him shift, move closer. "I don't think you and Brent are one of those," Brendon says and Jon thinks he actually sounds as if he believes it. "I think there's something wrong, but anyone can see he likes you."   
    
Likes, Jon's mind titters, as if temporarily moved back into kindergarten. He may be a little hysteric, Jon realizes and takes another deep breath. A tiny bit, a bit that would be easily cured with a decent amount of alcohol and maybe another jamming session with Tom. Maybe. "And sometimes that isn't enough."   
    
Brendon quiets then and Jon is maybe a little surprised he doesn't say anything more. But he doesn't open his eyes and doesn't bother to say something more. Sometimes, it just isn't worth it. Or the thing that makes it worth it, is just a tiny bit too far out of reach.   
    
***   
    
The last day of the tour, Jon and Brent are still avoiding each other. Jon isn't surprised, but he still ends up prepping TAI's gear with eyes that burn until he can barely see. But there's nothing he can do, nothing he will do,  so Jon only continues and continues without looking up and searching for someone that isn't there, because he's asked, he's tried, and sometimes it isn't enough, he tells himself. He doesn't watch their show, instead pulling back to the practice room where he plays everything Brendon has taught him until his fingers hurt. Jon doesn't want to think, don't want to imagine, don't want to listen to the thoughts somewhere deep inside that says: Try again. Try until he says something.

No one disturbs him.   
    
Jon knows Panic! will leave before him, knows that if he keeps away long enough he won't have the chance to be avoided because Brent won't be there. There's no work for him to do until later, so Jon thinks he might as well stay away, playing Interlude loudly enough that the echo of it in the small room drowns out the screams of fans and the vibration of the bass.   
    
Jon hears when Panic! leaves the stage before the encore, the screaming of the crowd loud enough to almost drown out his playing. In roughly three minutes - plenty of time to drink some water and mop off a few buckets of sweat - they will return to the stage and the only thing Jon will hear is the hum of the bass and the beat of the drums. His hands still on the piano and the tech part of his mind counts down the seconds until that last moment when the tour has ended and Panic! will accept the accolades.   
    
It doesn't come.   
    
Jon frowns. The crowd is silent but he can't hear either drums or bass. He gets to his feet and drifts towards the door, and, without thinking, opens it. The door swings wide open and Jon peers towards the stage but he still can't hear anything so he starts walking. Jon knows this place outside and in - even if something is going on, he can keep himself unseen. So he takes a left turn and heads towards the opposite side of the stage from the one the band uses. His heart is thudding and his steps hurry. It's too silent. Feels too silent.   
    
Then he opens the last door between him and the stage corridor and realizes that Panic! has changed things up. Instead of the songs they've played for an encore all tour, Brendon is singing while playing the piano, accompanied by Ryan on an acoustic. Brent and Spencer don't seem to be even out there. Trusting the corridor to be empty, Jon edges towards the curtains, keeping himself out of sight from the crowds and look out. Yeah, Spencer and Brent are gone, and he can't see them side-stage either. Jon frowns.   
    
"Looking for me?"   
    
Brent. Jon's heart skips a beat and lodges somewhere in his throat. He doesn't turn around, only closes his eyes. "I was wondering."   
    
There is a rustle behind Jon and the sound of steps closing in. "I asked Brendon to do the encore acoustically." Brent's close enough now Jon can feel his warmth against his back. "I wanted to talk to you before I leave."   
    
"Is there a point?" Jon asks and nearly swears at the plaintive voice it comes out in. Way to sound not-brokenhearted, Walker. "We said everything that needed to be said."   
    
Brent makes a small sound - Jon can't tell if it's meant to be in agreement or something else entirely. "We really didn't," he says, and yeah, there's the answer because he sounds exactly like how Jon feels. "I left. That's not even remotely related to talking."   
    
"Yeah, well, it said enough." Jon forces himself to open his eyes and turn around, to look at Brent's pale face, the way dark brown strands clings to his face, the way his eyes immediately finds Jon and stays here. He knows how that skin feels under his hands, knows how that mouth tastes. And he needs to forget. So he says: "What do you want from me?" and it comes out in a voice full of broken glass.   
    
Brent exhales, then steps closer until there's barely air between them and Jon knows before Brent moves that he will lean on Jon, resting his head again his shoulder. But he doesn't stop him, can't stop him. But he can't move either. "Jon," Brent says and Jon can read his name in the movement of Brent's lips through the damp fabric of his shirt. "Just... Please. I can't do this now, but I can't leave you like this either."   
    
Something in Brent's voice lets Jon's hands rise at their own, digging into the back of Brent's damp shirt and tugging him into Jon's body until they are leaning against each other like co-dependent pillars. Jon closes his eyes again and turns his face into Brent's hair without letting himself think. "It's only going to make it worse," he finds himself saying, voice raspy and shredded.   
    
Brent pushes away then, just barely, so he can look Jon in the eye, one hand going to Jon's face to half cup his face, half tangle in his hair. "I don't care," Brent enunciates and there's something wild in his eyes, something desperate that causes an answering tug deep in Jon's stomach. "I can't just... You..." He bites his lip hard, but this time he doesn't waver from Jon's eyes. A small gesture perhaps, but it's what makes Jon give in, something opening so far, so wide it leaves him shaking and wanting and he clings to Brent, searching for his voice and...   
    
"Brent."   
    
Brent's eyes widen and that hot something flashes into his eyes and doesn't leave. He sweeps his gaze over the stage behind Jon, tugs him into the corridor, into a small room Jon didn't know was there. The door clicks shut behind Brent and Jon fumbles behind himself, trying to find something to prop himself up on as Brent crowds in on him, hands falling to Jon's hips and sliding up until they meet skin. The sudden tingle of warmth, of cool air, sends shivers up Jon's back and he trips over something as he tries to move closer, hitting the edge of a table or a shelf or something that doesn't matter because he can tiptoe up on that edge with Brent's hands under his thighs boosting him the rest of the way. Jon reaches for Brent, catching the damp fabric of his shirt and pulling him in; swearing, tugging him forwards even as Brent stumbles on the same thing Jon did, only barely catching himself against Jon.   
    
"Brent." Jon says and he can barely hear himself as Brent finds his thighs again, gliding upwards and under until his hands skim up Jon's back and pull his shirt over his head. Jon's skin prickles and tightens - as much from Brent's breath on his skin as he leans in, mouthing at Jon's neck, as from the cold. Jon shudders, leaning his head back and somehow finding the hem of Brent's shirt and tugging him closer and harder, fingers digging into skin before he can wrap his legs around Brent's waist, flip flops thumping to the floor.   
    
"Jon," Brent replies and shifts a little, hands tracing a path down his sides and back until they can worm into his jeans and edge Jon to where he wants him, grinding down sharply until Jon's breath hitches and his fingers dig in sharp enough Jon knows there'll be marks tomorrow. Brent smiles against Jon's neck and nips at it sharply until Jon drags him up to his mouth, possessing Jon with an ease he really shouldn't have but which nevertheless shatters Jon until he can only clutch and grind and give up what he didn't know he had just to keep that feeling, that sense of right.   
    
He might go a little crazy after that, but who wouldn't with Brent's hands at the small of his back, his hips stuttering against Jon's until he feels like he'll explode. There's no rhythm, no softness, only harsh lips and nails and hands and the way Jon's legs burn as Brent pushes them apart roughly, jeans crumpled somewhere on the floor. The feeling of fingers, of Brent's mouth hot against his neck, the damp feeling of Brent's skin under Jon's hand as he scrabbles for something to hold on to even though he knows there isn't anything, that he's falling and that there might not be a bottom.   
    
Then it ends: Brent's hands tightening on his hips, Jon's nails digging in and then letting go as everything brightens, explodes and fall into darkness until all that's left is darkness and the harsh breathing to the echoing thumps of Spencer's drums as Brendon goads him into a last crescendo. Jon's legs fall down, Brent's hands slide off his hips and there's air between them again as Jon tentatively finds his balance and Brent quietly cleans up, stumbling a little as he reaches down for Jon's pants and hands them over. They don't say anything - what is there to say?    
    
Before Brent leaves, he turns towards Jon, hand reaching up briefly to cup Jon's neck, his cheek. Jon wish he could have seen Brent's face, but the light is falling on him, not Brent, and there's an irony there he isn't completely unaware of. Then his hand falls and Brent slips out, the door clicking shut behind him and leaving Jon in the dark with only bruises and a burning feeling to prove it ever happened. Jon closes his eyes. It doesn't really make a difference.   
    
***   
    
Jon leaves the cleaning closet with the taste of salt on his lips and bruises in the shape of hands on his hips. Jon wants to close his eyes against the feeling of it, but at the same time the memory stays at the front of his mind, anchored and unwilling to float away. He pulls himself together and returns to where he is supposed to be. A handful of months: not nearly enough and yet all there could be. With the life they live, they can't ask for more.   
    
Tom walks over to him as he returns, nudging him in the shoulder with dark eyes and a tense mouth. Jon forces his lips into a thin smile and shrugs. He'll be fine. Eventually.   
    
"Last day," Tom says.   
    
"Yeah." Jon looks at the stage. Last day. This tour has been everything Jon wanted it to be. It has given him music, friends and love: everything he missed when he left. Right now, he isn't sure if he wants to return for one more tour, or even one more season. He's tired and it's familiar, the same tired he was at the end of 5o4Plan. Two months, and it has taken more from him than he ever thought it would without a band. Jon doesn't know if it was worth it.   
    
Jon looks at Tom, says: "And then there's Warped."   
    
Tom nods and Jon can see his feelings echoed in Tom's face. "Warped," Tom repeats and glances almost unconsciously towards the rest of his band. "Maybe..."   
    
Tom doesn't end the sentence, but Jon feels it anyway. Warped makes or breaks you, and sometimes it's both at once. And Jon has the feeling it will be worse than ever this time around. He sighs. Maybe it is time to go home.

As if he heard Jon's thought, Tom looks over at him, something odd on his face. "Go home," Tom says and Jon can barely hear his voice. "Go home and rest. We'll do without you and I think you need it." _I think we both do, but you are the only one who can._

Winter is over and spring is here. Jon isn't sure what that means, but he thinks it will change things. For better or worse... Well, he'll just have to wait and see.

**Author's Note:**

> **Bonus Tracks/Enhanced Content**
> 
> **Fanart:**  
> [Then Brent shifts and the light hits his face briefly, illuminating the way he's biting his lip again and the heaviness lifts and Jon knows.](http://withertime.livejournal.com/2694.html) by sass_le_fay
> 
> **Fanmix:**  
> [Fanmix](http://withertime.livejournal.com/2342.html) by the-liftedlorax


End file.
